Too Late for Hallelujah
by ArmedWithMyComputer
Summary: What if Daryl hadn't regained consciousness that day, and was more injured than he originally thought? By the time the group realises that he never came back from looking for Sophia, it's already dark, and there's nothing that they can do. AU to 2x05.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey everyone, this is my first Walking Dead fanfiction, Too Late for Hallelujah. I hope you all enjoy it!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Walking Dead, and the illustration for this story is not mine._

_._

Carol appears from within the RV, and glances around, her thin hands clutching the doorway of Dale's Winnebago. Glenn gives her a small wave, and she smiles tightly back at him. "Is Daryl back yet?"

He looks around the rest of the group for him, and then frowns when Daryl is nowhere in sight. Glenn becomes aware of the sky darkening, and he wonders how dusk managed to creep up on them so quickly. Rick and Lori are speaking quietly by the fire, Shane staring into flames opposite them, while Andrea and Dale are keeping watch on top of the RV. T-Dog is the closest to him, reading one of Dale's trashy novels while leaning against the RV.

They had all just come back from looking for Sophia more than two hours ago, and had eaten almost immediately on their return. Glenn hadn't even thought to look for Daryl, what with everyone being so disheartened from yet another day of coming back empty handed.

"Hey, man, you seen Daryl since he came back from searching?" Glenn speaks quietly, not wanting to disturb Carol even further, as he looks back at her pale face.

T-Dog shrugs, "Haven't seen him. Ask Rick." He can't blame the man for being slightly dismissive of Daryl, as the guy had been known to be hostile to him from day one. He was getting better though, Glenn mused as he made his way over to Rick, ever since Merle had gone out of the picture. Daryl still wasn't the friendliest person in the group, not by a long shot, but it couldn't be said that he didn't pull his weight, he always had really, and he seemed to tolerate them all slightly now.

Glenn repeats his question to Rick, who pauses in the middle of his conversation, and looks around. Carol had crept out of the RV by this stage, and sat down quietly beside Lori, who hugged her gently. Rick frowned as Shane says that he hasn't seen the hunter either, and then shouts up to Andrea and Dale. They both look worried as well, and Glenn tried to ignore the sick feeling that's pooling in the base of his stomach, and the way that Carol has one hand pressed over her mouth.

"Daryl?" Rick stomps over to his tent, which is conveniently set as far away as Daryl could get it, and opens the flap, peering inside. When he turns back to face the rest of the group, his face is tense, "His crossbow's not here." The words send a stab of fear into Glenn's stomach, though he tries to ignore them.

The rest of the group is standing now, all looking around fearfully. They seem to have noticed how much darker it's gotten, and the silence that they stand in for a moment is ominous, and crushing.

Carol lets out a muffled sob as she turns to gaze out at the fringe of the woods.

"Okay," Rick takes charge, Shane stepping up to stand beside them as they continue to scan the nearby area for any sign of Daryl. "Glenn, search the house. Andrea, I want you and Dale to take the stables, see if the horse that Daryl took is still gone. Lori and Carol, look in all the tents. T-Dog, keep a watch out on top of the RV, in case he's just heading back now. I'll go fill Hershel in. Shane, take the fields around the property, but don't go into the woods." They all nod, like the soldiers that they've had to become, though fear is evident on everyone's face. "Nobody panic," Rick cautions, "I'm sure he's fine, that he's just hanging out by himself somewhere, but these are just precautions that we have to take."

Then Glenn's hurrying towards the house, and when Maggie opens the door and smiles softly at him even though things are still confusing between them, it's all he can do not to push past her and start yelling for Daryl. He doesn't though, instead calmly explaining the situation, and asking everyone that he can find in the house if Daryl had come through there.

They all answer no.

.

Rick is striding around the camp with Hershel, trying not to let his worries get the better of him. Daryl's fine, he tells himself, the guy's one of the toughest men that he'd ever met.

But dread is starting to seep its tendrils around his thoughts, and all he can think about is how dark it is. Now they were missing two people. It was stupid to let Daryl out on his own, Rick reasons, though he knows that there's no way the redneck would have let anyone come with him.

"What about the barn?" He suddenly asks, missing the look of fear that Hershel lets slip out for a fraction of a second. "Is there any way that he could be there, do you think?"

The other man shakes his head quickly, "No, no way. That place had been locked for years, there's no way in or out." Looking back, Rick realises that he should have copped onto the way that Hershel had answered too quickly, but his mind was too full with all the possibilities.

By the time the group meets back up again, it's fully dark, and there's no sigh of Daryl anywhere. Carol's crying silently across from him, and the looks on everyone else's faces are hardened. As if they're already counting on Daryl as being dead, and bracing themselves for the grieving process.

They've just lost too many people.

And Rick is determined not to let them lose another.

"Okay, listen up. We haven't found him yet, but that doesn't mean that we're giving up on him. It's too dark for us to go back out now and start searching, but first thing tomorrow, if he hasn't shown up, I'm going to head out on horseback, and try to find that ridge that he was talking about. Anyone else going to join me?"

He looks at Shane, and is briefly surprised when his friend gives a slight nod. Rick would have thought that Shane would have been the last person to volunteer for the search, after their conversation that afternoon, but then he realises that his former partner is probably looking at things from a tactical point of view. Daryl provided them with most of their fresh meat, squirrels and the rare deer, and the camp needed him more than they'd rather admit. They didn't need Sophia all that much, when it came down to the harsh reality of surviving.

T-Dog, Glenn, and Andrea all volunteer for the search too, and Rick tries his hardest not to look at Carol, who is still sobbing, her body shaking with the force of her grief.

There was always a chance that Daryl was fine. He used to stay away for days when they were back in Atlanta, tracking deer for miles and miles, but Rick knows deep down that this time is different. This isn't Atlanta, and they've all grown closer. He was willing to bet that a month or two ago, Daryl wouldn't have been out in the woods every day looking for a missing child, but now that's all that's fuelling him. Maybe he caught sight of a new trail, and is just following it for as long as he could.

Or maybe a walker got him.

Maybe he's already dead.

With the new plan formed, Maggie and Hershel drift off back to the house. Carol is almost beside herself, and Rick can see how hard she's trying to supress it. She nods to him, wiping the tears off her face before more fall just as silently, and then climbs up the RV steps quietly. Dale sits in his chair on top of his RV, and doesn't say another word to anyone, just sits there staring out into the darkness.

Everyone else melts off to their usual haunts around the camp, and then their tents, all traces of conversation gone in the second that it took them to realise that Daryl was gone.

Soon it's just him and Lori left by the dying fire, and she leans into him. "Where do you think he is?" She asks quietly, and he's slightly surprised at the amount of concern that is visible in both her expression and her tone. He didn't think that she cared much for the redneck, at least, not until now.

"I don't know," He admits, and then bites his lip. It's his job to be strong for everyone, and that's not a responsibility that was going to disappear just because Daryl is missing, "But we'll find him tomorrow," The words sound hollow to his ears, but they seem to satisfy Lori.

She slips off to their tent only a short time later, and he says goodnight to her with a kiss, saying that he'll join her soon, but he honestly doesn't see himself moving for this position for quite a while.

.

When Rick wakes, its morning, and he realises that he must have fallen asleep by the dying fire, because he's lying on the dirt ground and Glenn is standing over him looking anxious. "He didn't come back," Were the first words out of his mouth, and Rick realises that Glenn is holding a gun and a crowbar in his hands.

There's a dagger in the belt of his jeans, and it's slightly disconcerting to see Glenn looking this hardened.

Rick scrambles to his feet, and sees T-Dog leaning against the RV, with a large blade in his hands, and Shane emerging from his tent.

None of the others are awake, so it must be early, Rick realises, and looks up to the roof of the RV to see Dale looking down at him sadly, his face exhausted. "I kept watch all night," He says grimly, "Daryl never came back. Carol spent the whole night in tears."

It must be excruciating for the woman, missing her only child, and then being told that the only man who had been out every day searching for her had failed to return. He had no words to offer her, only empty promises that she'd heard all too much before when Sophia had gone missing, so he avoided going into the RV

He grimaces slightly at the older man's words, and then nods up to Dale to acknowledge him, before he ducks into his own tent to grab his weapons, and kiss Lori awake. She stirs, and their eyes meet, and somehow she just knows. "Just be careful…"

Rick presses his lips to her forehead, and they stay like that for a moment, before he silently pulls away and grabs his gun.

At the stables, Jimmy is saddling two of the horses, looking slightly bleary eyed from the early hour, and the others are gathered around. No one is speaking, just staring at random spots on the wall, gripping their weapons tightly, and preparing themselves mentally for the worst. It's then decided that Rick and Shane will take the two horses, and that Andrea, T-Dog, and Glenn will stick together and cover more ground behind them.

Glenn pulls out the crumpled map that they had been referencing off the previous day, and all five of them peer into it. "This is where Daryl had said that he was heading yesterday, to this ridge here where he seemed to think that he'd have a view of the whole grid. I'd say that there would be our best bet, so we'll take this approach, which lopes around a bit, and head for the ridge, while the people on foot should just head straight there. Is that clear with everyone?" He traced a clear line from the farm to where Daryl had set off to the previous day for the group on foot, and then loops his finger back around for himself and Shane's route.

A series of nods and grunts answer him, and then he rolls up the map, and hands it back to Glenn. Rick grabs the reigns off Jimmy as Glenn puts the map back into the small back pack that he has strapped onto his back, and then he and Shane swing themselves into the saddle.

"Let's go then."

Hershel appears just as they're making their way out of the stables, and he doesn't even say anything about the shotguns and pistols that they're all carrying in full view. "I hope you find your friend." They acknowledge him with grim faces, smearing with dirt that seems ever present these days, and it's horrible how accustomed that they've become to missing people and anticipating loss.

.

They lose the three people on foot within a few minutes, the horses navigating through the forest faster than human feet can. Still, it's slow going, as Rick and Shane didn't dare to put the horses into anything faster than a walk. They daren't take the chance.

Every rustle in the bushes has Rick snapping his head up, but it's never anything. He handles the reigns with one hand, the other clutching his gun, though he knows that he shouldn't use it unless he absolutely has to. His dagger is tucked into his belt, and he can see that Shane has done the same. They both scan the ground for any signs of a body, but there's nothing except leaves and dirt. Rick is growing more and more nervous with every minute.

The first twenty four hours are crucial in a missing person's case…

But it's the goddamn zombie apocalypse, and everyone's luck has gone to shit, and, hell, none of them even know how long that Daryl's really been missing for.

Shane looks like he's scanning the ground for any sign of Daryl's tracks, and Rick even joins in for a while, but its painfully obvious that neither of them are trackers. They needed Daryl for something like this, and the realisation only makes his absence more obvious.

So instead, Rick focuses on the trees in front of him, and tells himself that Daryl will be fine. That they'll probably come across him sitting on a log eating raw squirrels or something. Then they'll be able to give out to him, and head back to camp where everyone will give the guy shit for staying out without telling them, and things will be back to normal. Because, unless he's found Sophia, any other outcome of the situation is starting to look pretty dire.

It takes them a few hours to reach the ridge that Daryl had been talking about, mostly because they took the long way around, and because they didn't really know where it was. When they finally do manage to get the horses up the slope, and onto a trail that looks new, Shane glances over to him, and points at something on the ground.

Rick leans over, and sees crushed leaves and scattered dirt, and knows that there's been a struggle. He had been a cop once, and there's too much evidence for it to be anything else.

But there's no body.

No blood, no walker corpse, no discarded arrows, no horse.

They both dismount, and Shane crouches down to get a closer look at the torn up ground. Rick hides a smile when he realises that Shane probably considers himself an amateur version of Daryl. "Looks like the horse took off," He says in a low tone, "But I'm sure that even Daryl isn't stupid enough to suddenly break into a gallop out of nowhere."

He nods his agreement, and then moves to look down over the edge into the valley that's below them. Rick's eyes scan the ground, seeing a steep cliff that leads into a waterfall type rock formation, and then a river. He can't see anything unusual.

Until he can.

"Oh, shit. Shane, get over here"

His friend is immediately at his side, and they both stare down at the still body of Daryl Dixon, that's lying on the other side of the valley, outstretched on some rocks. He's not moving. Then they see the blood trail that leads from the waterfall, and over to a steep incline, that's a few feet away from the body.

"Looks like he tried to climb back up, but fell. Probably knocked himself out again."

Rick has to squint to see properly, but it looks like there's a red puddle of blood surrounding Daryl, and he bites his lip.

"Daryl!" There doesn't seem to be any walkers around, so Rick takes his chances, and yells out the redneck's name, while Shane hurriedly secures the horses to a tree before reappearing back beside him. "DARYL!" It's a long shot, but Rick tries to yell loud enough to stir Daryl back into consciousness, but be quiet enough that he doesn't attract the nearest five herds.

Shane is moving closer to the edge, peering over at different locations, before shaking his head, and moving to a different place. "I can't see a clear path down. It's all just loose bark and dirt. We'd nearly be better sliding down, and taking our chances." He curses loudly then, and Rick detects the slightly hint of concern in his voice, as Shane looks over at Daryl again.

He inhales sharply then, while Rick is looking over the edge, and grabs his shirt, "Fuck."

There's a walker heading straight for Daryl, the stumbling gait clearly recognisable, and Rick almost loses the ability to breathe. He grabs blindly onto Shane's shirt, and for a split second, the two of them are frozen, clutching onto each other for support. Daryl still isn't moving.

They're about to have a bird's eye view of one of the group getting eaten by a walker, and there's nothing that they can do.

No.

Then Rick lunges forward, and starts making his way down the treacherous slope, as fast as he can without killing himself, and he can hear Shane doing the same thing right behind him. He glances up for a moment, somehow managing to see through the trees and branches that he's sliding past, and sees the walker less than a metre away from Daryl. They're not going to make it in time.

The bushes hide Daryl from his view then, and Rick lets his breaths come out in gasps as he pushes himself harder to go faster. At this point, both him and Shane are practically falling down the damn slope, but neither of them are fighting for any more control.

Rick wonders if Daryl will regain consciousness and start screaming when the walker begins to devour him.

.

He's nearly at the bottom now, and his heart is in his mouth, and Shane is breathing heavily behind him.

They both end up tumbling onto flat ground in a flurry of leaves and dirt. Both pairs of eyes snap up to see the walker gnawing on their friend's boot. He still hasn't moved, but they're too far away to shoot at it, and there isn't enough time to run over.

Rick spots another walker shambling over, and he has to hold in a frustrated and grief filled scream.

But then suddenly, Daryl starts to stir, and the two ex-cops hold their breath in disbelief as he twitches. Then the walker suddenly lunges for his face, and they jump to their feet as Daryl throws his arms up, and lets out a moan of pain that even they can hear as he attempts to wrestle with it.

Then Rick and Shane are sprinting across the sand, while Daryl rolls around on the ground with the un-dead creature, and Rick curses himself silently for not being a faster runner. Shane is creeping past him, and they're both running as fast as they can. Daryl lets out a muffled yelp as the walker manages to get on top of him again, but he shoves it off, and flings a hand out, that lands miraculously on a long, thick stick that he grabs and swings with all his strength.

The walker's face cracks with a disgusting squelch as it caves in on itself, but Daryl keeps bashing it, unflinching, as Shane and Rick come closer.

Shane veers off to the left to confront the other walker that almost on top of Daryl as he tries to drag himself backwards with hisses of agony, and shoves his knife into a rotting eye socket. The walker goes down quickly after that, it's brain effectively pierced, and Rick is relieved that Shane didn't just pull out his gun like he normally does.

Rick throws himself down on the ground beside Daryl, and starts patting his leg where the walker had been chewing, frantically looking for a bite of any kind. Daryl lets out a groan that is so full of pain and anguish that Rick finds himself wincing, and tries to pull weakly away. Shane is suddenly behind him though, and he holds the man in place until Rick looks up, relived, and says, "No bite. I think it was just gnawing on the leather of the boot."

Then they both sigh in relief, and take a proper look at Daryl.

The relief quickly fades.

"Oh, God," Rick hears himself saying as he stares down at the arrow that is protruding grotesquely from Daryl's side. He had obviously tried to secure it and stop the bleeding by ripping off his sleeves, and tying them around his middle, but the material was soaked through his blood.

"M-Merle...?" Daryl groans, a hint of some unknown emotion in his voice.

"Daryl? No, Daryl, it's Shane and Rick... Can you tell me what happened?" Daryl's eyes focus briefly on him, but then they slide away, and the redneck doesn't answer.

One whole side of his face is also covered in dried blood, and it is visible in his hair as well, a deep cut clearly hidden from view within his head. Daryl lets out a sharp exhale of obvious discomfort as Shane holds him steady, and the two cops meet eyes. Rick has no idea how they're supposed to get Daryl out of there, and back to the farm house on their own. "Easy, man," Shane says quietly as Daryl tries again to flinch away from Rick's hands that hover over his stomach.

"Don't fuckin' touch me… you b-bastard."

The words are shaky and slurred, but its 100% a Daryl thing to say, and Rick bites back a smile. "I just have to check this, okay, Daryl? I'll be really quick, just count to ten." He slowly pulls up the material of Daryl's shirt, which is now caked in blood and mud and dirt, and frowns when he sees exactly where the head of the arrow is protruding from.

It went in from the back, and pierced through all the muscles and tendons, and then came out about an inch from his belly button. It was in deep, and all Rick could do was pray that it hadn't nicked any organs. He had no way of telling if there had been any internal bleeding either. "Get off me, fuckin' cop…" A foot manages to catch him weakly on the leg, and he apologies to Daryl, gently letting go of his shirt, and moving back to sit beside the man's heels.

Rick glances down at Daryl's legs, seeing the one that had kicked him lying beside his other one that was twisted at an awkward angle. "Daryl, can you move your right foot for me?"

"Fuck off," He moaned, but then he obligingly twitched his right foot a half an inch, before slamming his head back into Shane's muscled shoulder, cursing under his breath, and telling Rick in no uncertain terms just how much of an asshole he was.

"Doesn't seem to be badly broken, if you can move it," Rick mutters under his breath, looking over Daryl's face to meet Shane's eyes, "Maybe just a bad sprain or dislocation?"

But, out in the forest a few hours away from the farm in the middle of a zombie apocalypse when the world had gone to shit, a dislocation or sprain could well be a death sentence. Shane frowns, and then pulls Daryl up by his armpits, "C'mon, let's get you sitting." It takes a few moments for the redneck's eyes to stop rolling around in his head, and his head lolls slightly to the side when Shane moves him, despite the fact that they're moving slowly and carefully.

His head injury must have been worse than Rick had previously thought.

Shane had just picked up his gun again, and was scanning the area for any sign of more walkers when they both hear a faint yell. Daryl winces, and lifts up a dirt smeared hand with another moan. He pushes the heel of his hand into his forehead, and Rick can see him trying to keep his pain contained, and stay in control of himself.

He looks up towards the top of the small cliff, and Rick lets out a relieved sigh when he sees who's waving at them through the thin coverage of trees. Glenn is standing next to Andrea and T-Dog, his arms flapping around wildly, and Rick's willing to bet that his feet are even lifting slightly off the ground with his enthusiasm. Shane signals back at them quickly, from his position supporting Daryl, and the threesome start to make their way carefully down the steep slope.

It's a good thing that their reinforcements have arrived, Rick knows that, but he glances back down at Daryl, who is barely conscious at that point, and can't help feeling something that seems a lot like dread slam into his stomach.

God only knows how Daryl lasted the night in his condition, all alone, and though he was trying not to think negatively, Rick wasn't sure that Daryl would survive the trip back up the cliff, or back to the farm.

.

_So there's the first chapter :) I hope that it was okay, and that you guys can give me some feedback. I'll hope to get the next chapter up in the next couple of days, but feedback would help me to write faster, and be more confident or know where I need to improve._

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey guys, here's the next chapter! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the first chapter—You guys all made my day :) Enjoy!_

_. _

By the time that the others have reached them, the worry and fear on their faces is all too evident, and Daryl stirs as they crouch down beside him. They all looked shocked, scared, and overwhelmed for a few moments, but they've all somehow learned to mask their emotions since the world went to shit.

"The hell're you… all doin' here?" He slurs, scowling up at them, "You should be out lookin' fer that little girl… t'one that you damn lost."

They all look surprised when he says this, and Rick frowns when he realises just how little Daryl thinks of himself and his role in the group. He looks at them all with narrowed eyes, that, while they're filled with pain, also have a clear undercurrent of self-loathing and a vulnerability that he honestly didn't think that he would ever see in Daryl Dixon. It's almost, and Rick isn't sure if he's crazy for thinking this, similar to the look that he sees in Carl's eyes when he gets scared or uncertain about something, but it's that bit more pure because it's got the trace of someone who has absolutely nothing left in this world, and who knows it.

"You're important to us too, Daryl," Andrea says, and reaches out to stroke his blood matted hair gently.

She meant it as a comforting gesture, as something that's done to someone whose hurt and scared, to reassure them. Daryl, however, flinches away from her touch, and fists his hand in the dirt, either in a sign of pain or fear, Rick isn't sure.

T-Dog replaces Shane in his attempt to keep Daryl somewhat upright, and then the rest of the bunch together in a small group, not too far away to give Daryl the illusion that they're leaving him, but far enough that they can mutter amongst themselves without him hearing.

Shane rubs a hand over his face, and then runs it across his newly shaved stubble that has replaced his once thick head of hair, and says, "How the hell are we supposed to get him out of this damn valley? With that arrow in his side… we can't risk jostling him too much, and I don't think that we should just pull it out."

"I don't think that either, it's in too deep," Rick said, trying not to look at the blood that was splattered on the ground between them all, "Maybe if we make some sort of litter or stretcher…"

"From what, Rick?" All that's here is twigs, and small branches, and in case you haven't noticed, it's going to get dark soon!"

He watches Andrea throw her hands up in the air, but before he can say anything, Glenn pipes up, "Look, we have to get him out of here today, okay guys? He's already spent one night out here, another will kill him. Maybe we could all carry him, like four people at once so we don't jostle him, and the other person can go ahead and clear somewhat of a path up the cliff? Then we just get him on one of the horses, and head back to the farm."

"That's not going to work," Shane says immediately, and Glenn's face falls. "That there's a steep hill. There's no way that we could carry him up, we're gonna need to focus on climbing up ourselves, and someone else is just gonna get hurt if we try that idea."

"Well, what the fuck are you suggesting? We can't just leave him here!" Andrea's voice rises, as she spits her words angrily at Shane, who just holds his hands up in defence.

"I'm just stating the facts…"

Then a voice cuts in, one that no one had been expecting. It's low, gravelled, but loud. "Jus' leave m'here." They all whir around, to see Daryl pushing himself up with a grimace, his face paling rapidly. "Ain't no way I'm gettin' outta this damn valley, so there ain't no reason why you should all keep arguin'. Go back to camp, and keep lookin' fer Sophia."

Rick turns to face the redneck fully, "Daryl—"

"You can't carry me up this hill, Officer fuckin' Friendly. Only way I'm getting' out is if I climb up myself."

There's silence then, and even though everyone hates it, they all know that there's truth in his statement. But that doesn't mean that they have to be happy about it.

Glenn starts to pace, moving around restlessly, his eyes scanning the slope for any kind of hope desperately. Andrea doesn't move from her spot, but her hands wring together anxiously, and her eyes look like they're filling up with tears. Shane comforts himself by grabbing his gun, and turning his back on the rest of them, shoulders broad and unmoving.

He kneels down next to Daryl, and looks the man right in the eyes, "I'm not going to leave you here, Daryl, I promise you that."

The man looks back, and his expression is now closed off and determined. "You can't help me, Rick." The words are said with just enough malice to cover up the weakness, "Yer ju' gonna get yerself killed out here with me, and there ain't no point in that."

.

But Rick is steadfast in the knowledge that there is no way that he's going to walk away from another Dixon, and leave him with a death sentence. From the looks on the others' faces, it's not something that they're comfortable with either. But no one knows what else they can do, or offer the rest of the group.

Rick watches as T-Dog drags Daryl back a foot or two to prop him up against some rock, at Daryl's request. He then reaches into his bag, and lifts a bottle of water up to the injured man's lips gently. It's amazing really, that Daryl would even let T-Dog touch him, considering that a month or two ago, Merle had been with them and had tried to kill T-Dog on numerous occasions. But, Rick realises, Daryl is not his older brother. The thought is something that had been growing in his mind for a while now, but he hadn't really thought about it properly.

It was becoming more evident though, every day that Daryl spent with the group, and the others were starting to notice it as well. Rick had asked himself the question countless times, why was Daryl still with them? They had left his only brother for dead, and then had just expected Daryl to move on with them a day or two later, while his brother was still missing.

And then there was the Sophia situation. Daryl had been totally focused on the search, from the moment Sophia had gone missing, and there wasn't really any expectation for him to spend all day out in the woods, with only a small bottle of water, and whatever squirrels he could catch to eat, but he did.

So there was no way that Rick was about to just give up on him.

"Jus' gimme my gun back, and leave me be," Daryl was saying, a hardened expression on his face, and honesty in his eyes. He was prepared to die out here.

.

A few minutes go by until it happens, minutes that everyone spends in silence, drifting further and further away from each other, most of them looking up desolately at the small cliff that lies all around them. Their spirits are all crushed.

Then Daryl flinches away at seemingly nothing, and his eyes roll around in his head for a few seconds. His face is now ghostly white, and Rick crouches down beside him from where he had risen to stretch his legs. "Merle?" He says, his voice childlike and vulnerable, his eyes focused on something beyond Rick.

The rest of their small group look over in concern when they hear Daryl's words, but they're all silent as Daryl leans back into the rock, a faint tremor going through him, his eyes fixed on something right in front of him, and then he croaks it out again, "Merle?"

"Daryl?" Rick moves into his line of vision, wanting to snap Daryl out of it, because he was starting to shake now, and the look on his face was a mixture of fear and thankfulness. "Daryl, Merle's not here, you're just hallucinating… Daryl? Can you hear me?"

But it seems as if Rick's words are in vain, as Daryl flinches and winces underneath him, and moans out Merle's name again. Then he starts to shake his head, as if distressed, and he whispers out, "No… No, they…"

He trails off, and just goes back to staring straight through Rick, his head lolling on his shoulders slightly. Andrea and Glenn crouch down beside them as well, but not even Andrea's soft hand on his forehead or Glenn's fearful words meant to snap him out of it, do anything. Daryl remains slumped up against the stone, a look of sadness and what seemed like… acceptance in his eyes. Rick bit his lip, not having a clue what to do in the situation, but not wanting Daryl to suffer from him not doing anything.

Whatever he was hallucinating, whatever Merle seemed to be saying, looking like it was shattering Daryl.

And the Rick hit him.

In a last desperate measure to drag Daryl out of whatever he was hallucinating, Rick smacked him across the face, like someone might do to a person who was hysterical. Andrea gasped loudly, and Glen froze. His hand stung as Daryl's face jerked to the side, and then he went still.

When Daryl finally opened his eyes again, they were focused, and more lucid than Rick had seen him in the past hour.

His eyes looked up to meet Rick's concerned ones, and he bared his teeth slightly, in a sort of twisted smile. When he spoke, his voice was rough but controlled, and it was amazing the difference that seemed to have come over him, "No… I ain't gon' let Merle tell me what to do… I ain't gon' die out here no more… Help me up, Officer Friendly."

The others all gathered around as Andrea and Rick grasped Daryl as gently as they could and lifted him slowly to his feet. He wavered and swayed, his eyes closing and a grunt of agony escaping him, but he seemed to be coping as well as he could. "What's the plan now? How are we going to carry you up the cliff?" Shane asked, as he lowered the gun slightly, and turned his body marginally so that he could see Daryl out of the corner of his eye, and still survey the surrounding area for threats.

"Ain't no one gonna carry me outta here," Daryl frowned, "I fuckin' said that already. "'M gon' walk up myself, dumbass… All I need is someone to fuckin' help me over there."

There was silence for a few beats while the rest of the group digested his words, "Uh, are you sure that that's a good idea, Daryl?" T-Dog asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, 'm fuckin' sure. Made it halfway up before anyway, didn't I?" Daryl growled out, shifting his weight so that he didn't lean as much on Rick, as if he was trying to prove something to either the others or himself. "Now someone better pick up my goddamn crossbow, and let's go."

Not seeing any other way to get Daryl out of there, and not knowing what the man would do if they denied his request for assistance, Rick nodded silently, and then jerked his head towards the part of the incline that Daryl had gestured weakly at. "Well, let's get a move on then, everyone."

Shane glared at him over Daryl's bowed head as they started to half drag him across the sand, clearly saying with his expression that he thought that Rick was out of his mind. He had spent enough time with his partner on the job to be able to communicate silently with him, whether it was through a gesture or an expression, and in that split moment when he stared back at Shane, it seemed as if nothing had changed and the world hadn't gone to shit.

_What else can we do?_ Rick said silently, and he could see Shane shaking his head in frustration, but knowing that Rick was right.

.

When they reached the edge of the valley, the steep hill sloping dangerously upwards at their feet, everyone stopped, and tried to casually look at Daryl.

Even Daryl seemed to be slightly second guessing himself.

"Let's get this shit don' then," He finally said gruffly, and tried to detangle his arms from where they were looped weakly around Rick and Andrea's shoulders. They let him stumble away from them, and watched as he took what looked like a drunken step in a vaguely straight line, and then half fell onto the steep hill.

He grunted loudly, and for a split second, he allowed himself to press a hand to his side where the arrow was still embedded, but then he moved his bloody hand back to the undergrowth underneath him, and hauled himself up a foot. The he stopped again for a moment, before getting a new handhold and pulling himself up further.

Rick had to hand it to the guy, he was determined.

This continued for another twenty minutes, during which Daryl had managed to drag himself up ten metres or so in the sweltering heat, with blood dripping onto the various bushes and hanging branches every so often. Their small little group followed closely behind him, watching and worrying, but knowing that they couldn't really do anything.

Glenn was clutching Daryl's crossbow tightly to his chest, and he would occasionally looked up to study its owner's back with anxious and terrified eyes, as Daryl singlehandedly hauled himself up the cliff face. He was joined in this act by Andrea and T-Dog, none of them even attempting to mask their concern. This was in stark contrast to Shane, who had edged around Daryl two minutes into his climb, and was silently clearing away any unstable branches and undergrowth, not looking back for more than a second at a time.

At the sound of yet another pained groan from Daryl in a matter of moments, and seeing the slight hitch in his body as he forced his arm to reach further than looked possible to grab the next small tree, Rick edged a bit closer, so that he was beside him.

"Daryl? Do you want to take a quick break—hunker down for a few minutes and have a rest?"

What little remained of Daryl's shirt was soaked in blood, and it was running in small rivets down his sweat soaked face. With what looked like a humongous effort, Daryl flicked his eyes over to meet Rick's, and shook his head. "Need ta… keep goin'," He panted, and Rick watched as his whole face contorted in pain as his good foot scrambled for a foothold. His injured ankle was then inched up behind it, and he clung tightly to a nearby tree as he used his good foot to get a new foothold.

The whole process was agonizingly slow, and it was killing Rick to know that he couldn't really do anything to help.

When they had first started up the steep slope, Rick and the others had tried to boost Daryl up at times, to offer the tiniest of help, to do anything that they could to try and make the climb even the smallest but easier. But he had shrugged them away, going as far as to even weakly kick T-Dog's hands away with his foot. It was a sign of his stoicism at its highest, and also his stubbornness. Then the slope had gotten even steeper, and they had all needed both of their hands to manoeuvre themselves up without injury.

Rick honestly had no idea how Daryl had made it this far up the cliff, or how he was finding the strength to keep going. He wasn't sure that he would have had the mental and physical strength and willpower to fight so hard for survival.

.

A strangled yell that was so full of pain and anguish filled the air around them as Daryl scrambled to get a decent foothold in the sliding dirt, the kind that would just crumble under their grip, no matter how gentle or tight they were holding on.

He slid down at least a foot, and it took all of Rick's average reflexes to see him coming, and try to physically stop him from continuing his descent with his hands. For a moment, they both just froze, breathing heavily, Rick feeling the blood from Daryl soaking into his shirt, before the redneck went limp in his grip.

"Daryl? Daryl!" Rick felt a drop of ice cold sweat run down his spine, and that horrible sick feeling in the pit of his stomach multiplied by ten. He looked up desperately at Glenn, who was right beside him, "Daryl, can you hear me?"

_Not now, not when we're so damn close_.

Glenn shuffled closer, and lifted Daryl's head up gently, peering down to see if he was still conscious, "Daryl?" His face was taunt with worry. Behind and in front of them, the rest of the group had halted, and were all staring at the scene in front of them. Rick heard Andrea let a sob slip out, and glanced up to see T-Dog put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Then, to Rick's utter surprise, Daryl lifted his head slowly, and said roughly, "Y'ain't gon' get me, Merle… Not this time." He seemed to focus on Glenn then, and shifted the smallest bit in Rick's hold, "The fuck're ya starin' at, Chinaman… 'm trying ta climb a damn cliff here."

His face splitting into the biggest smile that Rick had seen on his, Glenn moved back an inch or two, and nodded subtly to Rick to let Daryl go, which he did hesitantly.

Daryl then took a moment to draw in a rattling breath, before dragging his bloody and broken body up another foot. He looked up then, to see what distance he still had left, and seemed to deflate slightly, but pressed on, and covered another metre in under a minute. Shane, still looking back cautiously, glanced up as well to see the trail just a few tantalising metres away, and the said, "C'mon, Daryl, you're nearly there, man. Just a few more metres, y'hear me? Just keep going, you're nearly at the top."

While it was surprising to hear such outright words of encouragement from Shane, who seemed to be twisting further and further away from Rick these days, the words seemed to give Daryl a second wind. Daryl only grunted in response, but followed it up by hauling himself up that little but more, using nothing more than his upper body strength and a thick branch that seemed the hang down at the perfect height.

"C'mon, Daryl, just a few more metres!" Glenn suddenly yelled, and then started climbing up the slope at a speed that rivalled even Shane's quick and precise military like style.

Glenn reached the top first, kneeling down on the trail, and reaching a hand down to Daryl, who was agonizingly close. Then Shane was beside him, his hand also outstretched, and for a moment, when Rick saw Daryl look up at them both, he was worried that the man was actually going to pass out, just when he was so close to his goal.

But, Daryl didn't tarnish his newly earned reputation of surprising the shit out of Rick, and, with seemingly his last ounce of strength that he had left to offer, pulled himself up the last, excruciating feet, and allowed Glenn and Shane to each grab a hold of his arms.

They hauled him onto the bit of ground that vaguely a trail, and he let them. In an attempt not to yank out the arrow that was still firmly embedded in Daryl's side, though Rick knew that it would be a miracle that they probably wouldn't be granted if Daryl didn't turn out to have massive internal bleeding by this point, Glenn and Shane lifted Daryl up straight, instead of just pulling him on his stomach up off the slope. From where he was watching, from the back, it looked like Daryl was already dead.

The clothes soaked in blood and the clearly visible arrow sticking out of his back, combined with his general limpness and the way that he was complying with the other men's' movements, made Rick's heart almost skip a beat, and he continued his climb quickly.

.

The rest of them scrambled up the hill as fast as they could, Andrea letting out a yelp as the dirt shifted underneath her feet, but grabbing hold of a branch, and swinging herself upright again.

By the time that they had reached the trail, Shane had run to get the horses, and Glenn had managed to turn Daryl over onto his back. His eyes were closed, blood mixed with sweat creating a sheen on his face, and his breathing sounded compromised.

But the sound of his strained breathing was better than no sound at all.

Shane returned with the horses a minute later, and then they were all fussing and wondering exactly how the hell they were going to get Daryl on a horse and back to camp the quickest. To tell the truth, Rick hadn't even been sure that Daryl would survive the trip up the cliff, and he was certain that the others were thinking the same thing. It was disconcerting to notice that throughout all the hurried discussion, Daryl remained silent, not moving from where Glenn had arranged him on the hard dirt and leaves.

After a few long minutes, during which all Rick could think was, _we're wasting time he doesn't have, wasting time, no time,_ a decision was made, and they all rushed into action.

Rick swung himself onto the horse, and leaned forward as much as possible, while Glenn, T-Dog, and Shane attempted to get Daryl vertical again, and then lift him up onto the horse. Daryl made frighteningly little noise or complaint during the whole process, which was worrying in itself, and didn't protest when his arms were draped over Rick's shoulders, to try and keep him upright.

Daryl slumped against Rick weakly.

With a tight look at the rest of the group, who were huddled together staring up at him, Rick nodded once, and then kicked the horse into a gallop.

Daryl didn't have much time left… If it wasn't too late already.

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_So, I hope you guys liked that! I'll get the next chapter up in a few days, but feedback really helps me to write faster :)_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_

*** arrow breaking off


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey guys, here's chapter three! Thanks so much for all the reviews for the last chapter – I really appreciated them :) Also, I'm not a medical professional, so all Hershel's mistakes or the inaccuracies are mine! _

_Hope you all enjoy this chapter!_

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It seemed to take hours for them to ride back to the house, but in reality, Rick estimated their journey to only be about twenty minutes.

He could feel Daryl sagging limply against him, and no matter how loud he called back, the other man never answered. _Unconscious_, Rick's brain told him, but his fears screamed _dead, you killed him, dead_ at him. The horse was a blessing in itself, never putting a foot wrong even though Rick was forcing it into a constant gallop, through the tangle of trees, roots, and bushes.

At one point, they nearly rode into a walker, a young man with half the flesh torn away from his face, and the other half rotted off. It had loomed up in front of them suddenly, and if it hadn't been for the horse's seemingly existent sense of self preservation, and the way it veered off to the right with only a horse like noise that Rick couldn't identify, they would have ploughed right into it. Rick couldn't bring himself to think of the consequences of what nearly had been.

When they finally burst out of the woods, sunlight hitting them as if God himself was shining down on them, Rick could have cried with relief.

But he forced himself to stay still in the same slightly hunched over position, with Daryl draped over him like a rag doll, as the horse galloped across the fields. It was almost as if the animal knew that seriousness of the situation, or at the very least recognised that they were close to home, as he suddenly put on a new burst of speed.

Rick could see the small figures of the rest of their group and Hershel's gathering together as he neared, and he longed to shout something, _anything_, to let them know how dire the situation was, but he knew that they wouldn't be able to hear anything, and a lump suddenly closed his throat.

What if he was already dead?

.

There were shouts of surprise and sobs of fear when he finally pulled the horse to a halt, and everyone caught sight of them. Rick could feel Daryl's head lolling around on his shoulder, and his hands hanging limply down on his chest, but when he opened his mouth nothing came out.

Suddenly, people were pulling Daryl off the horse, as gently as possible, Dale and Jimmy trying to support his weight and be as gentle as they could, and Rick panicked at the unexpected loss of Daryl's weight. They rushed Daryl to the house, Hershel and Patricia in front and sprinting ahead to get things ready for him.

Lori was tugging him off the horse then, Rick realised, Maggie holding the horse's bridle steady for him as he half fell into his wife's arms. She was crying, but she still wrapped his arms around him and started to lead him into the house. Carl was shaking with fear, but even he tried to be strong as he grasped Rick's hand, squeezing it tight, and pressed himself against him. Rick stumbled along the path to the farmhouse, Lori and Carl flanking him.

He felt numb.

All he could hear was the sound of Carol's sobs, and Beth trying to console her.

Maggie had haphazardly tied the now exhausted horse to a nearby tree, and then run into the house after her father and the others, probably to help, Rick assumed. He didn't know, and he couldn't bring himself to ask somebody, words still beyond him.

Somehow, Lori and Carl got him up the few steps, and through the door into the house. His knees buckled slightly when he saw the smear of bright red blood on the wall next to a door, which was almost alive with noise and shouting behind it. It terrified Rick to think of what was going on in that room.

He turned slightly to go to shuffle into the room, because some part of him _needed_ to see Daryl again, needed to make sure that he was still alive. But the other half of him was scared, afraid that he would open the door, and Daryl would be dead, and that it would be all of their faults.

_If only they had noticed that he was missing sooner._

But Lori steered him towards the dining room instead, and he let himself be lowered into a chair, not having the mental or physical strength to do anything else. Then his wife was fussing around him, trying to wipe the dirt off his face with a washcloth, and carefully pulling his shirt off him.

It was only when he looked at it in her hands, did he really see how covered in blood it was. It was ridiculously disconcerting to try and calculate the amount of blood that had soaked into the shirt, and then try to compare it to the amount that had bled into the sand around Daryl where they had first found him.

How much more blood could a man lose?

Carl curled up on a chair opposite him, while Lori ran a towel dipped in warm water over his chest. Rick just sat there, and thought. He was very aware of the fact that only a few walls separated the others from them, that Daryl could be bleeding out, haemorrhaging, slipping away, and dying. It made him feel like he was going to throw up, which he nearly did on a few occasions, but he managed to hold himself back, staying perfectly still, so his family wouldn't see how torn up he was about the whole situation. Though he had a feeling that they already had.

At one point, only a few seconds after Lori had buttoned up a new shirt on him, and then sat right up close to him, Beth came bursting into the dining room and rushed past them into the kitchen. She had obviously finished with her duty of minding the distraught Carol.

Rick looked up when she exited the kitchen, and caught a glimpse of the shining object in her hand. It was a pair of tweezers, long and silver, with a surgical look about them.

Then Rick couldn't take it anymore, grabbing the small bin in the corner.

He threw up everything that was in his stomach, and then slid down to sit on the floor, hoping with every fibre of his being that Daryl would be okay. Because he was pretty sure that the guilt of not finding Daryl sooner would eat him alive faster than any walker could.

.

Glenn, Shane, Andrea and T-Dog practically broke down the door as they came sprinting into the house, and suddenly the kitchen was filled with bodies and voices yelling, and the tension was so thick that it nearly strangled Rick.

But then he reminded himself that he was the leader here, that he was the one who had to take control, and he pushed himself away from where he had been leaning against the wall, and stood. They all went silent then, freezing as he stood before them, swaying slightly, all eyes focused on him. All the words that he had been about to spill out slipped just out of his grasp though, and Rick was left, for seemingly the millionth time that day, struggling to make any kind of sound.

"He's dead isn't he?"

Glenn's voice broke the silence, as he pushed past T-Dog with a roughness that was so unlike him, until he was standing face to face with Rick. There was a strange sort of look in his eyes, as if he was challenging Rick somehow, and his chin jutted up slightly as they both stared each other down. Still, no words came to Rick.

Then Glenn's hands reached out, and shoved him backwards, "Just say it!" He howled, "Be a man, and fucking say it, Rick! Tell me that's he's dead!"

The moment that his back hit the wall with a force that Rick didn't think that Glenn possessed, he snapped out of his trance, "No. He's still alive." The words came out slightly muted, and he had to clear his throat once before he could try and say the words louder, "He's alive. Hershel and the others are working on him right now… But… he didn't look too good by the time that we got back." The last sentence slipped out, almost as if he was trying to warn them of what could turn out to be the inevitable, and the words burned his throat.

They all reacted in their own way to the news. Andrea seemed to just melt; sagging back into a chair like her legs just couldn't hold her up anymore, while T-Dog let out a breath that sounded like he'd been holding for hours. There was a soft thud as Shane turned slightly, and let his head rest against the wall in relief, breathing only the smallest bit heavier than usual with his body turned away from the rest of the group. Glenn just stared at Rick for a minute, stunned, and then grabbed his cap off his head, starting to clench it nervously as he took a few steps back from Rick.

Rick took a good look at the four other members of Daryl's search party, and grimaced when he saw how filthy and blood splattered that they were. There were small drops of what he assumed was Daryl's blood on all of them, and the sight made his stomach churn.

But before he could say anything else, not that he had any idea what to say, Maggie came running into the kitchen.

All heads snapped up to stare at her in fear, but the words that they had all been fearing didn't come out of her mouth. _Dead dead dead dead_, Rick's brain was screaming at him, but upon hearing Maggie's question he slumped back against the wall, his heart hammering away at a mile a minute.

"Anyone got O- blood?"

Glenn turned toward her so fast and started to move that he tripped over a chair, and went tumbling to the ground, but he scrambled up, shouting, "I do, I do! Do you—Is he dying?" Questions were spilling out of his mouth as he tried to get up as quickly as possible, but Maggie's lips just tightened even further, and she leaned down slightly, grabbing Glenn's wrist and yanking him to his feet.

"Not yet anyway," She was pulling him towards the door even before she'd finished her sentence, "Y'all need to stay in here; my father is still workin' on him." Rick noticed that Glenn's hat had slipped out of his hands when he had fallen to the ground, and that it now lay discarded beside the overturned chair.

Then the two were gone, disappeared behind a now closed door, and the room descended into silence.

.

He didn't know what he had been expecting. His expectation certainly hadn't included as much blood though, and it hadn't had him cringing back against the door either.

Glenn let Maggie usher him over to a chair beside the metal table that Daryl was lying outstretched on, and she held his shaking hand as Patricia pulled on a fresh pair of surgical gloves, and started poking around with his arm in order to give Daryl a blood transfusion.

So horrific was the scene in front of him, that Glenn didn't even feel the prick in his arm when the needle went in.

And to think that he used to be afraid of needles.

Daryl was motionless and shirtless in front of him, the bottom half of his legs dangling off the shiny metal table that he'd been put on. Blood was dripping onto the ground, big fat red drops that just rolled off the surgical table, and splattered onto the ground. Then Glenn realised that the surgical table was probably supposed to be for cows or something, and he had to close his eyes for a brief moment to keep himself from throwing up right in front of everyone.

But Daryl needed him right now, needed _his_ blood, and there was no way that Glenn was going to screw that up.

Hershel didn't even acknowledge his presence in the room, too absorbed in his task, Patricia back at his right hand side, handing him instruments and leaning over the body in front of them with him. Hershel was, quite literally, inside Daryl.

He had made an incision that was probably ten centimetres in length, in Daryl's torso, on his left side where the arrow had gone in, and was digging around inside the redneck with his two hands. Glenn watched, both terrified and repulsed, as Patricia passed him what looked like a suture kit, and Hershel started to sew up something inside Daryl. He would stop what he was doing every few seconds to allow Patricia to dart in and out with clean cloths, that always came away soaked in blood, and then he would resume whatever he was doing.

A small bowl was on the table beside Daryl's left hip, and it was decorated with irregular red spots that Glenn knew had to be blood. Just beside it, were the top and bottom of the arrow that had been embedded in Daryl, and when he craned his head Glenn could the small splinters that were soaked in red. Hershel must have pulled them out of Daryl with the bloody tweezers that had been discarded in the bowl.

After a few minutes of watching Hershel operate on Daryl, Glenn knew that he had to look away or he was going to lose what little control that he had and start screaming.

What with all the horrible and soul destroying things that he had seen since the dead had started to walk, this ranked pretty high up on his list. It was because he had seen what state Daryl had been in, had been behind him for their arduous and agonizing journey up the cliff, had been left standing in shock as Rick galloped away, and then had ran all the way back to the farm without stopping once. And now Hershel was just cutting into Daryl, and reaching inside him, looking so controlled and composed when all Glenn wanted to do was start screaming and run.

So he turned his head away from the sight of Hershel butchering a member of their group, and attempted to look at Daryl's face, hoping that it would give him some sort of closure, and help him to calm down. Or something. Glenn really had no idea what he was doing.

But the sight that met his eyes was worse than what he had just been looking at.

There was a big ugly tube protruding from Daryl's mouth, taped into place hastily, his lips limp around it. It was attached to an ambu bag, one that Beth was squeezing methodically, her brow furrowed in concentration. She looked up for a moment and caught Glenn's eyes, and tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it only lasted for a second, and then she returned to staring at the wall opposite her, biting her lip as she squeezed the bag carefully, with the same amount of interval time.

The most disturbing thing though, Glenn seemed to think, apart from the fact that Beth was quite literally _breathing_ for Daryl, was his face. It was slack around the tube, his eyes closed, and so unlike any image of Daryl that Glenn had had in his head before.

Daryl looked young and vulnerable, once all the tension was drained out of his face and he wasn't constantly frowning. He looked like a completely different person, and if it had been anyone else, Glen would have assumed that it had been the apocalypse that had twisted them into such a hardened and closed off person, but with Daryl he wasn't sure.

Maybe Daryl had always been like that. Self-sufficient, defensive, gruff, and… broken.

It was a scary thought to think that what they had all just thought of Daryl before, that he was an asshole and a good for nothing redneck like his brother, could be totally wrong. Bit by bit, Glenn was starting to realise that maybe Daryl had been broken by Merle, long before everything went sideways, and that maybe it wasn't his fault that he was so defensive and… Daryl-ish.

And now Daryl could die right in front of him, and Glenn would never have the chance to apologise to him, to tell him how sorry he was for dismissing him and assuming that he was just like his brother. He might never have the chance to properly try and get to know Daryl, not just say a few words in passing and then feel good about himself for not 'ignoring' the other man— not that he expected to get very far, but stranger things had happened than the idea of breaking down Daryl's walls.

Glenn had always tried his hardest to be the best man that he could be, but right then, looking at the still body of Daryl Dixon, he had never been more ashamed of himself.

.

He was broken out of his thoughts by someone grabbing onto his hand tightly, and squeezing it.

_Maggie_.

She held onto his hand, looking into his panicked and scared eyes, and Glenn could feel his breathing start to slow slightly as his eyes latched onto hers. He managed to gather up the strength to shift his body slightly so that he wasn't facing Daryl head on, because he didn't think that he could take staring at him for any longer.

Maggie knelt down in front of him, and wrapped her arms around him. It was only then that Glenn realised that every part of his body was trembling, and that his breaths were coming out uneven. He let himself relax slightly in her embrace, and she lifted one hand up to stroke his head slightly, the gesture more comforting than anything that Glenn had felt in a long time. "It'll be okay," She murmured against his ear, and even though Glenn knew that the statement probably wasn't true, because nothing had been okay in _such_ a long time apart from her, he nodded and let himself believe her.

For a minute or two, he just let his head rest against her shoulder, and let his arm flop against a small beside table that had been dragged up beside his chair, his blood flowing through the tube into Daryl, and tried to breathe normally.

"He's losing too much blood, I can't get it to stop," Hershel said suddenly, Glenn head snapping up to stare at him, "Maggie, I need you over here!"

She shot up out of her position, and was at her father's side in a minute. Then she too was picking up the white bits of cloth, and pressing them into the incision in Daryl, trying to stop that blood that just seemed to keep welling up, then discarding the blood soaked cloths and grabbing new ones.

Hershel was frowning as he attempted to keep sewing Daryl up, but even he looked slightly defeated at this point.

It was too much.

Glenn glanced up for a moment to see Daryl's still slack face, paler than he had ever thought that anyone could be, and then he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. Colours danced behind his closed lids, but he forced them shut even more, feeling the throbbing in his head, but not knowing how to deal with any of this.

He tried to will more blood out of his body, in the hope that it would start to help Daryl, but he was starting to feel lightheaded already and his throat was dry.

_Just don't die. Please, just don't die._

Finally a few minutes later, Glenn heard Hershel let out a sigh, and then say, "I think that I've got all the bleeders now. Let's sew him up." One eye cracked open, and Glenn peeked nervously over towards Maggie and her father. She gave him a weary smile, and he let out a shuddering breath that he hadn't realised he was holding in response.

Running one hand through his short hair, Glenn tried to calm his breathing, not looking up when Maggie disappeared from the room silently to get something. He jumped slightly when she suddenly pressed a glass of orange juice into his hands, and placed an apple beside him on the small table, "You should drink that," Hershel called out suddenly, still not looking away from Daryl, but seeming considerably less tense, "You're going to be weak after giving blood."

Glenn nodded slowly, and then drained the glass, almost half afraid of what Hershel would say about Maggie putting her arms around him and whispering in his ear before.

But now was clearly not the time for worrying what your potential girlfriend's father would think of you, so Glenn kept his mouth shut and glued his eyes to the wall. Maggie pulled up a chair beside him, and grinned at him, before she reached out to check Daryl's pulse, calling out to her father that it was 'weak, but stable.'

Finally, Hershel seemed to be done stitching Daryl up, and he moved back slightly to let Patricia dab away the drying blood with a wet washcloth before he placed a clean bandage around the wound. Beth stepped to the side slightly still squeezing the ambu bag methodically as her father nodded his approval at her, and went to stand beside her. He then moved onto to examining Daryl's head wound, the one that had matted his hair with blood, and made it near impossible for Hershel to see the gash properly.

After a few more seconds of him trying to pry apart the tangled mess of blood and dirt that was Daryl's hair, Hershel settled for getting a clean towel that had been dipped in lukewarm water, and tried to get rid of some of the gunk in his hair. Within moments, the fresh white towel was stained both brown and red, filthy, but the idea seemed to have worked, and he appeared to be able to see the wound better.

More stitches were put into Daryl's head wound, and the blood that covered most of his face was sponged off gently by Maggie, her careful hands making it look like she had done it a hundred times. Maybe she had though, what with being a vet's daughter, Glenn rationalised.

It unnerved him, the way that they were all so calm and methodical.

.

Daryl's boot had to be cut off him, because of how much his ankle had swelled up. When Glenn looked at it, dangling off the end of the table with his other foot, it was ridiculous how grotesque and wrong his right foot looked when Glenn compared it to the other one, and he winced in sympathy.

_How the hell had Daryl managed to drag himself up that steep cliff?_

Glenn looked away in horror when Hershel announced that Daryl had dislocated his ankle, that that he'd have to try and wrench it back into place. To his surprise, Maggie only nodded grimly, and went to stand at the end of the table, holding Daryl's limp leg up to brace it while Hershel grabbed the foot and readied himself to jerk it back into place. The dull _thunk_ that sounded out was worse than Glenn had expected it to be, and he cringed back against the wooden chair that he was still sitting on.

He was surprised though, when Hershel came over to him afterwards, and disconnected the IV that had been transporting his blood to Daryl, "Wha—" He managed to get out, but was cut off by Hershel.

"You've given too much blood already, Glenn, it's time for you to rest."

Daryl's unmoving face was still too pale though, and the small splatters of blood that hadn't been cleaned off stood out against the whiteness of his skin, "But he still needs more. He needs this… What if…"

"He does still need blood, but you'll be no good to anyone if you keel over before you can give him more. You need to rest, and replenish what you've given, and we'll see later about maybe another transfusion." Hershel then half lifted him off the chair, and guided him towards the door, "Let's go tell your friends the news."

.

Rick was exhausted.

They all were. All the members of their group were draped across the furniture somewhere in the dining room, or pacing, or, in Carol's case, staring out the window with tear filled eyes. She and Dale had joined them shortly after Glenn had been pulled from the room by Maggie, and the silence in the room was unbearable.

Then Glenn came staggering through the door, his face pale and looking like he was in shock.

The change in the atmosphere was instantaneous, everyone jumping to their feet, scrambling to turn around and face him, tremors of fear running through Lori beside him. Glenn opened his mouth to say something, looking utterly drained, but then swayed on his feet dangerously.

Hershel grabbed him by his upper arm, coming in behind him just in time, and pushed him into a chair, where Glenn just seemed to deflate, trembling slightly. Then Hershel turned to the other members of the group, looking grim, his eyes meeting Rick's as Rick took an unconscious step forward.

"We need to talk."

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_So, I hope that chapter was okay… I'm sorry for the delay in putting it up, I've rewritten this what feels like a million times, and I'm not sure if I'm completely happy with it… The next chapter will be better though, I promise. I've love to hear some feedback from you guys, as it really would help me to write faster :0 Next chapter will be up in a few days!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey everyone :) Thanks so much for all the reviews from the last chapter, I loved every one of them! Again, I have no professional medical knowledge, so Hershel's mistakes or inaccuracies are mine. Hope you enjoy this chapter!_

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Hershel gestures for the rest of the group to sit down, and Rick's eyes flicker over to Glenn who has his head buried in his hands and seems to be shaking, before he finally lowers himself into a chair. When all of them are seated around the large table, some huddled close to others for support, Hershel starts to speak.

"First off, it's a wonder how you people have survived this long. And I have never seen anyone seem more determined to survive than that man in there. He's critical at the moment, should be dead really, but stable for now. Before I start, does anyone know what happened? Did one of you shoot him with his own crossbow?"

At the stunned silence that continued for a moment after Hershel's inquiry, Rick realised that no one else was going to respond. He cleared his throat, and then said, "No. We, uh, we just found him like that. Lying at the base of a valley and covered in blood. We think that he might have tried to climb back up, and then fallen again, knocked himself out for the entire night possibly… Plus, I'm pretty sure that Daryl would kill us if we even thought about touching that crossbow of his."

Rick smiled slightly when he said that part, and was glad to hear Shane snort in laughter. Everyone seemed to crack a silent smile at the statement, even Carol.

They had all seen at some point how protective Daryl was over his things.

"Well, we can cross that bridge if and when he regains consciousness," The mood in the room instantly sobered, and Rick found himself leaning forward slightly in his chair, desperate for some good news, "The most urgent injury was the arrow in his side, which had splintered by the time that I removed it. I managed to get all the pieces of wood out that I could find, but there may be more still in him. The arrow had pierced some blood vessels, one major one if I'm correct, so my priority was to make sure that he didn't bleed out. It was touch and go for a long while… still is really."

"What happens if you missed a splinter?" Andrea spoke up, from her chair where she had pushed it up to T-Dog's, and was leaning slightly against him. Her face was pale.

Hershel sighed, "If I missed one, then he will almost definitely develop an infection, and will have to undergo another surgery in order for me to attempt to remove it. We won't know if that's the case until it happens, but he's too weak and critical for me to go searching for the splinters before they become a problem at the moment. Any other questions?" No one spoke up, "Okay, so I removed the arrow and splinters, and stitched him up, and then I moved onto his head injury. There seems to have been two points of trauma, which would reinforce Rick's theory of him falling down, both of which were quite deep. I've sutured those too, but there's no way to know the extent of the damage without a CT scan, which is a facility that is long gone. I would say that a severe concussion is a definite though."

Rick suddenly flashed back to the memory of Daryl zoning out on them, and saying Merle's name over and over. He swallowed past the lump that had grown in his throat, and then spoke up, "Merle. He kept saying his brother's name, and getting distressed…"

"Yeah, it was kinda like he was talking to him, except, you know… Merle wasn't there." T-Dog spoke up, nodding towards Rick.

"I'm assuming that his brother is deceased then? I am in no way a professional human doctor, much less a neurologist, but I would imagine that in times of severe need like that, that perhaps a loving family member might be thought up as some sort of comfort to the person."

They were all silent at the assumption of Merle being dead, gazes glued to the polished wood of the table, but as Hershel continued to speak, Rick frowned. Merle Dixon, as a loving family member? There was no way that he could even begin to imagine that, "No… That wasn't what it was. Daryl was upset afterwards, like more shaken then I've ever seen him, and, to be blunt, Merle wasn't the comforting and help in need kind of guy."

Hershel could only nod his head, and say, "As I've said, I am not a neurologist. Perhaps Daryl's perception on his brother is different to your's, and that's why his mind conjured up Merle, as a way of coping with the situation."

"He did change his attitude after he snapped out of it," Shane said roughly, looking up to meet Rick's eyes, "First he wanted us to just leave him there, with a gun, but then he made up his mind to climb up the fucking mountain by himself."

Rick opened his mouth to add something, but then closed it when he realised that that was exactly what had happened. Somehow, the hallucination of Merle had given Daryl the will to live, and the strength to survive. But the look in his eyes while he had been staring into space with an intensity had scared Rick at the time, and the way that he had tried to close down his shaken expression when Rick had snapped him out of it, the determined glint to his eyes when he had gritted his teeth, and struggled to his feet.

"Looks like you don't know everything about Daryl, and his relationship with this Merle then," Hershel said after a moment of silence.

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No one else said a word, and after a minute, Hershel continued with his diagnosis of Daryl, with a glance down the table at Glenn, who was still hunched over and unmoving, "There was also extensive blood loss. He was on the verge of bottoming out when you brought him back, and for a while during the surgery, I didn't know if I would be able to get his pressure back up.

"When we started working on him, I had Jimmy run and fetch a small blood testing kit that I had purchased a year or so ago. It's not brilliant, but it's accurate enough. Daryl has O- blood, which means that he can only receive blood from other O- donors, and that's where Glenn came in. Glenn gave a large blood donation which seems to have been just in time, but Daryl still is suffering from severe blood loss, and will definitely need more transfusions."

At this, Lori, who was sitting next to Glenn, leaned over and put her arms around his hunched over figure. Rick watched as he turned marginally towards her, and allowed himself to be enveloped in a hug, one that looked like it was duly needed.

"That all? Is he going to be okay?" Shane asked, his voice low and harsh.

"I don't know yet," Hershel's answer was honest and full of badly disguised worry, "In addition to his major injuries, he also had a badly dislocated ankle, and may have broken some small bones, but there's no way of telling at the moment. Extensive bruising across the chest, some deep scratches and wounds on his arms, superficial cuts and contusions. To be frank, he should, by all accounts, be dead. He's stable at the moment, but there's no way of telling if his condition will improve or deteriorate at this point. And we are so grossly underequipped to deal with any sort of real deterioration, so…"

Glenn lifted his head rapidly, "I can make another trip into town! If there's a doctor's office or something, I can get anything that we need, and—"

He was hushed by Hershel, who looked down at him sadly, "A doctor's office won't have the equipment that we need. We'd be talking a major trauma centre, which there are none of anywhere near here, and even then I wouldn't be qualified or have the knowledge to use any of the equipment. And Glenn… we need you here, resting, to be able to give more blood. I'm sorry."

"So what, that's it? If anything goes wrong, he's dead?"

The whole table turned to stare in shock at Carl, who'd blurted out his question, his eyes hidden by the rim of the hat that had once belonged to Rick. "Carl, honey…" Lori attempts to fold Carl into a hug, but he wiggles out of it, and fixes his eyes on Hershel.

Hershel glanced at Rick for a split second, during which he found himself giving the other man a quick nod, and then looked back at Carl. "In short, yes, that's what I'm saying. But of course I will do everything that I can to help your friend, I promise you that. And Daryl is a fighter, Carl. If he's made it this far, I'd like to believe that he can pull through this."

Carl stared at Hershel for a few more seconds, as if trying to determine if the man was lying or sugar coating the truth for him, and Hershel stared back, calm and honest. Finally, Carl seemed to take Hershel's word for it, and sank back into his mother's arms.

"He'll be okay, Carl," Carol's voice was soft and gentle, but commanded everyone's full attention, "He knows how much we need him."

.

After everyone's outbursts, Hershel had retreated back into the spare room to monitor Daryl some more, while everyone else went their separate ways as well. Lori ushered Carl back to their tent, saying that he still needed to rest as well, and that it had been a big day for all of them. Carl had protested for a while, but then Rick had knelt down to his height, looking him straight in the eyes, "Your mom is right, you have to get your strength back. I'll come get you if anything happens, okay Carl?"

"You promise?"

The anxious look in his eyes surprised Rick, who hadn't expected Carl to care this much at all for the other man, but he nodded nonetheless, "Promise."

It was funny, how Daryl Dixon had managed to creep in quietly and earn a place among them, without anyone really realising it.

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It was only when Rick was in the lukewarm shower, trying his hardest to rid himself of any blood that had spilled onto him, that he properly thought about Hershel's statement, _looks like you don't know everything about Daryl, and his relationship with this Merle then._

The words couldn't have been truer, and he wondered how he ever really thought that he had understood the two Dixon brothers. Granted, he'd never seen them together, but it had seemed simple enough all those weeks ago, when he had met both of them within the space of a few days.

Merle had been, quite simply, an asshole. Just a big, loud redneck, with a talent for being especially racist at the worst of times. He'd punched him in the face too, Rick remembered, and sent him sprawling into the dust. He didn't think that he'd been too harsh, handcuffing the man to the pipe, in fact, it had been exactly what the situation that had been spiralling out of control had called for. But then, through an unpredictable array of events, the horrific had happened, and Merle had been left stranded.

Rick sighed, putting his face directly under the water that had now turned cold. It was something that he would regret for the rest of his life.

But then they had returned to camp, and none of the other survivors had been fazed by the abandoning of Merle. One person, Rick couldn't remember who, had gone as far as to say that the guy had deserved it. _No one deserved to die like that._ To be tethered to a pipe in a city overrun by the dead, and left to rot.

The next day, Daryl Dixon had come blazing into the camp, shouting for his brother to come help him, and Rick's heart had sank. But he had done the mature thing to do, and confessed to handcuffing Merle to the pipe. He hadn't known what to expect, so it had shocked him when Daryl had gone crazy on his ass. A string of squirrels had hit him straight in the face, as Daryl roared, and, slipping into some sort of default setting, Shane and Rick had subdued the man.

He hadn't thought about it from the perspective of what he would have done, if some stranger broke the news to him that they'd handcuffed Lori or Carl to a roof, and left them there. And he'd told Daryl bluntly. When he considers what he would have done, he realises they he probably would have tried to shoot the person who had done it.

Maybe it was the way that Daryl had been angry for weeks after they had lost Merle, his temper being triggered by the tiniest things and sometimes nothing at all, and then how he had just stopped mentioning Merle all together that made everything think that he hadn't really cared about his brother. From what he had heard, Merle hadn't seemed to care that much for Daryl.

Rick hadn't figured out before that maybe the brothers just had a different idea of love than the rest of them.

.

When he stumbled back into the kitchen, most of the group was gone.

Glenn remained though, his damp hair the only clue that Dale had persuaded him to take a shower, but he was slumped onto the table in the same position that Rick had left him in. Beside him, was Carol, whose eyes seemed to be dry, but her cheeks were streaked with tear stains. She had her head ducked down, buried in what looked like a cooking book, but it was obvious from her slightly vacant stare, and the way that she didn't turn the pages, that she wasn't really reading it.

Rick nodded slightly to each of them, but neither acknowledged him, and then with a sigh, he sank into the chair closest to him.

All three of them sat in silence for what seemed like hours, but, judging by the clock on the wall, was only twenty minutes, until Maggie came in quietly. All their heads snapped up, and she stumbled over her words for a moment, but recovered quickly once she looked away from Glenn, and spoke the rest of the sentence smoothly.

"M-my, um, father said that one of you can come in and see him for a few minutes if you'd like."

Glenn started to rise sluggishly from his seat, "Does he— Do I need to…?"

"No, Glenn, you can't give any more blood at the moment. C'mon, come into the sitting room with me, it's more comfortable there." Maggie came around the table to latch onto Glenn's arm as his face fell and he started to crumble back into the chair. He obediently rose with her, and let himself be led gently out of the room, and Maggie turned her head back to Rick just before her and Glenn disappeared from sight, "Y'all know what room he's in."

Oh, Rick knew the room alright. After his shower, which he'd had in the guest bedroom upstairs that had an ensuite attached, it was the shower that the entire group shared, he'd paused on the stairs coming down, and stared at the door that he knew Daryl was behind. The smear of blood on the wall just next to the door caught his eye as well, but he'd managed to tear his gaze away just as Andrea had started to come up the stairs.

They had both paused upon seeing one another, because, who really knew what you were supposed to say in a situation like this, when everything else seemed to have just gone to hell?

It felt like they had started to grieve already. Because, just how many other breaks were they going to get in this cruel, new world?

After a few beats of silence in which they both just remained frozen on the steps, Rick forced his body to start moving, and he began to descend the stairs. He saw her glance towards the room as well, but then she too began to snap out of her state.

Their shoulders brushed against each other when they passed, but as hard as he tried, Rick couldn't find any words to say.

Neither could Andrea.

.

He looked up at Carol, who had shrunk back against her chair, and whose head seemed to be shaking slightly. "I'm not ready," She whispered, "I can't—I can't go in right now."

The look on her face was so heartbroken and scared, that Rick felt something break inside of him, "We can go in together," He said roughly, "C'mon, we'll do this together, Carol." But still she seemed to retreat inside herself, shaking her head over and over again.

"No, I can't, I can't." A whimper broke loose from her, and she brought her hands up to her mouth, "I can't see him like this, not right now, not while he's just lying there… _dying_…" Then a sob slipped out, and shook her head more furiously, "You go in, Rick. Please. Make sure that he's not dying… I just, I can't."

As much as Rick longed to console the woman, who looked as if she was about to shatter into a million pieces, he knew that there wasn't really anything that he could say. And while his leadership tendencies were slowly coming back to him as the initial shock of riding back with Daryl wore off slightly, he still felt exhausted, and didn't think that he had the energy to attempt to help Carol at that moment. He made a note to either talk to her that evening, if Daryl lasted that long, or get Lori to.

"Well, okay. I'll let you know how he is. Keep the faith though, Carol, you and I both know how stubborn he is."

Though Rick hadn't known the man was that stubborn until he had witnessed Daryl singlehandedly haul and drag himself up a small cliff with injuries that probably should have killed him already.

Daryl Dixon was just turning out to be all sorts of surprises.

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Rick knocks softly on the closed door to the room, and waits until Patricia opens it to make any sort of movement. She touches him gently on the arm, motioning for him to go in, while she slips around him and out of the room.

His steps seem to be in slow motion as he tries to decide if he can face seeing Daryl like… he doesn't even know what Daryl is going to look like.

He thinks that he might throw up again.

But just as he is about to turn and run, his feet take the last few steps on autopilot, and he clears the doorway, having a full view of Daryl. For a split second, Rick focuses on Hershel first, the man checking Daryl's blood pressure in the corner, giving him a look that Rick feels is bordering on pity.

Then he looks properly at Daryl. He's lying outstretched on the double bed, and somehow seems to take up all the space but hardly any of it at the same time. Maybe its just Rick's brain going into overdrive, but he seems to look huge on the bed compared to what Carl had looked like, yet so weak and vulnerable. He's thin though, even more so than the rest of them, but Rick wouldn't have noticed the way Daryl's ribs were slightly noticeable if he hadn't seen him shirtless. He needed to eat more, for sure.

IV bags hang on the bedposts above him, more than Carl had had, and both his arms are resting by his side, palms up. Daryl is dressed only in a pair of bloody jeans, which have been cut off at the knees, so that Hershel could treat his ankle, Rick assumes. His foot is wrapped tightly in thick bandages, propped up on several pillows, and Rick can see how swollen it is from all the way across the room.

There's a huge bandage covering the left side of his torso, where the arrow went in, and bruises upon bruises smattering all over his chest. The bruises run up his arms as well, shallow but painful cuts littering the limbs. The deeper cuts have been covered with small pieces of gauze, several having been stitched up as well, and one of the most noticeable lacerations is one that slices just under his collarbone.

Bandages are wrapped around his head as well, making the paleness of his face seem more evident as it clashes with the stark whiteness of the gauze. An oxygen mask is strapped to his face, and Rick is relieved to see that Daryl's breathing seems to be at least slightly regular, though it does hitch every few minutes.

Daryl is completely unconscious, or at least, that's what Rick can hear Hershel telling him. He nods, distracted, while his eyes trace up and down Daryl's body, hardly believing that the man is still alive, and hanging on.

Then he tunes back into what Hershel is saying, and finds that he really wishes that he hasn't.

"… so when he wakes up, there will be significant pain. I don't have a large supply of painkillers, much less the type of strong ones that would definitely be prescribed had he been in a hospital. We'll have to ration them out as well, so as not to use up all our supply, and so be prepared for him to be in agony when he regains consciousness. Unless we can come across more pain medication, the little that we will be able to give him will be almost insignificant. As for antibiotics… I have an even smaller supply of them, having given almost half to Carl when he needed them, so there will be an increased risk of infection. And by that, I mean that it will be a miracle if he doesn't develop anything."

Rick nodded numbly, turning to stare at Daryl once again, feeling his heart sink along with Daryl's chances of surviving.

"When will he wake up?" He asks, feeling the words grate by in his throat as he concentrates on watching Daryl breathe.

"His body has suffered an enormous amount of trauma, Rick," Hershel says carefully, "Even with just the head injuries; I wouldn't be able to hazard a guess. But, combine two serious head traumas with all his other injuries, and I just have no idea. I don't even know if he's even going to wake up… You have to be prepared for—"

Rick cut him off sharply, "No. we've lost too many other people already, and if we lose Daryl… The group just can't afford that. He's going to be okay. He has to be."

"I'll do my best," Hershel says grimly, and the conversation ends there.

Dragging a chair up to the edge of the bed, Rick sits down in it, not sure if he should talk to Daryl, or just stay silent. He and Lori had spoken to Carl, when he had been unconscious, but Rick had no idea where to even begin with Daryl.

What could you say to a man that could be dying, one that you and everyone else had so horrifically misjudged?

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In the end, Rick settled for telling Daryl about what his life had been like before the dead had started walking. Hershel had left the room, promising to be close by and to come and check on Daryl again soon, and once the door had _snick_ed shut behind him, Rick had found himself speaking.

He talked so quietly that he could barely hear himself, about summer barbeques and the time that he and Carl had gone camping and the feeling that he always got when he got up for work and put on his uniform. The uniform that had once made him believe that he'd meant something, that he was doing good in the world. Rick talked about the smell of freshly cut grass in the summer, and the how good the first bite of a take out pizza always felt. Meaningless things, just memories and thoughts that started spilling out of his mouth, not making any sense.

Throughout it all, Daryl remained silent and unmoving, his breaths still too shallow and only just barely fogging up the oxygen mask.

After a while, Rick reached out and tentatively held Daryl's cold and limp hand in his own. He wasn't sure if what he was doing or saying was making the slightest inkling of difference, but he knew, that if he was unconscious, he would like to think that someone would do the same for him.

Maybe he was mostly talking in the hopes that Daryl would wake up, and tell him to shut up.

But when he finally tore his eyes away from Daryl's face, to look down at his bare torso once more to confirm that Daryl was indeed still breathing, Rick saw something that he hadn't noticed before. A long, jagged scar was visible just above his naval to the right side, one that looked years old and faded. His voice faded away.

And then, he saw another awful scar. And another.

The more that he looked, the more lines of scar tissue that Rick could see, on Daryl's torso, legs, arms… everywhere. It was only because someone seemed to have scrubbed off all the dirt and blood off him, that Rick noticed. Normally Daryl was covered in a constant layer of dirt, much like the rest of them at times, and this was probably the cleanest that Rick had seen him… since he'd met him. So it was only now that he was noticing the disturbing amount of scars littering his body.

What the hell kind of upbringing had Daryl Dixon had?

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_Well, there's another chapter down… I hope it was okay! Would love to hear some feedback from you guys, it really helps me to write faster :) I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I can, probably in a few days… I hope you guys still like this story._

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading, _

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	5. Chapter 5

_Hey guys, here I am with chapter five! Thanks a million for all the reviews from the last chapter, I really appreciate each and every one :) Hope you enjoy this chapter…_

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Rick stayed with Daryl, sitting in silence and trying not to stare at his scars, until Hershel came back in.

He jumped to his feet the minute that he heard the door open, and watched as Hershel took in his stunned expression, "Have you seen all of these?" He asked, one hand gesturing towards Daryl's unconscious body, "Why didn't you say anything to me?"

"It's not my place to say anything, Rick, nor is it yours. What kind of life that Daryl had before all of this is none of our concern, however shocking it may be." Hershel was calm and collected as he reached for the blood pressure cuff to check Daryl's pressure again, but he did seem to be slightly gentler with the unconscious man than Rick had noticed before.

He knew the words were true, that what had happened to Daryl in the past was none of his business, but it angered him to think that someone might have deliberately put those scars on his broken body. "But…" Rick trailed away though, because he knew that nothing he could say would make a difference. The sense of responsibility that he felt for Daryl was rising though, and it was at that moment, that Rick realised that Daryl truly was one of the group now.

Then he thought about how Daryl had flinched away violently when Andrea had reached out to touch him gently on the head, and how vulnerable and broken he'd looked after hallucinating Merle. Suddenly, he felt a fraction of the guilt of leaving Merle on the roof slip away.

"It's not right," He ground out, "None of this is."

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He left the room after a few more minutes, feeling the overwhelming need to be with his family, and hold Carl tight in his arms, keep him safe.

However, he went into the kitchen first, to find Carol, only to find that most of the group had flocked back together. Andrea, Dale, T-Dog, and Shane all looked up expectantly at him when he entered, Carol still staring deep into the pages of the cooking book. She shook slightly when he started to speak.

"Daryl, he, uh, he looks pretty bad… Hershel says that he's still fighting though, so we all just need to keep hoping, but I'm confident that he's going to be okay." Rick says the words, and they sound right, but they _feel_ so wrong.

Still, the rest of the group seem to believe him, even if he doesn't believe himself, and that's all that he really needed to accomplish.

Andrea hugs Dale tightly, while Shane gives Rick a tight nod, one that conveys how relieved that he really is. T-Dog grins, and excuses himself to go and clean himself up, now that everyone else had had a shower. Rick just stands there through it all, feeling numb, and not knowing if he's told a blatant lie or not.

But the worst is Carol. She just sits there, trembling, and clutching the book so tightly in her thin hands that Rick can see her knuckles turning white.

"Would you like to see him now, Carol," He asks quietly, and waits the few long seconds for her to meet his eyes. Rick's not sure why he asked Carol specifically if she wanted to see Daryl first, but he's seen them together, and has seen the gentleness that they show to each other, even if they haven't seen it themselves.

_Damaged people flock together_, he thinks, and then feels bad for doing so. He has no idea what the story behind Daryl's scars is, and while he's trying to put them out of his mind, it's not working. Rick just wants to know if they're the reason why Daryl is so guarded and defensive _all the time_, and wonders if the reason that Daryl does all the dirty work is because he doesn't think that he's worthy enough to be a part of the group. His second thought hits him like a truck, and it's only Carol's small whisper that can snap him out of it.

"Would you come with me? Just, there was so much blood, and I don't think that I can…"

He nods immediately, and tries to give her a comforting smile as she lets the cookbook drop silently onto the table. Andrea and Shane watch quietly as she gets up from her seat where she'd been almost motionless for over an hour, and Andrea pats her on the arm comfortingly as she passes them.

Then they're in front of his room, and Rick suddenly feels the need to warn Carol somehow, though he doesn't quite know what he's supposed to say. "There, uh, they cleaned all the blood off him, but— he looks very weak, and he's unconscious, and…" There are no words really to describe the level of wrongness that this situation seems to have reached, so Rick trails off, and stands a step behind Carol as she knocks softly, before pushing open the door.

There's no one in the room except Daryl, Hershel must have taken a break, and Carol is silent as she walks towards the bed.

Rick lingers at the door, wanting to see her expression and know what she's thinking, but also wanting to give them some privacy. Carol reaches out a hand to touch Daryl's still one, but she pauses at the last minute, and fixes her eyes on his slack, pale face.

Then she twists her head to look at his torso, one that Rick now knows is shredded in faded scars, and her hand that had been about to touch Daryl rises up to clamp over her mouth.

It's only when she lets out a choked sob, that he moves towards her, not knowing what's going on. Carol collides with him as she suddenly starts to walk backwards, her eyes fixated on Daryl's body, and Rick puts his arms around her.

She's shaking in his arms, and Rick is asking her what's wrong, but Carol doesn't respond, only shaking her head. He leans down to her face, and then realises that she's actually whispering something quietly, over and over, "I can't, I can't, I can't do it."

"What is it, Carol? What can't you do?"

"I can't just sit here and watch him die," She says louder, and twists out of his arms, half running for the door.

Rick follows her helplessly, and can only watch as she bursts into tears once again, once she's clear of the room. The front door bangs behind her as she runs from the house, and the sound draws Shane out of the kitchen, his knife drawn and expression hardened.

He relaxes his stance once he sees that there are no walkers in immediate view, and turns to Rick, "What the hell was that all about?"

"I don't know," Rick replies honestly, "I just don't know."

Then he turns back into the room, with the unconscious man and the dozens of scars covering him, and sits back down. Because it seems like his leadership skills are falling apart, and he doesn't know what to do, and all that Rick can think of to do is to sit with a possibly dying redneck, and pray that he'll have one more chance to apologise to him.

.

Glenn sits in the living room on a couch that's almost too comfortable to still be around in the apocalypse, and lets Maggie curl up against him.

He feels numb.

It's like all the emotions that he had felt while being in the room with Daryl, watching him being cut open and looking like he was dying, had set him into overdrive, and then something inside him had broken. Like with the RV, when the radiator hose just broke, after so much use, and nothing would revive it.

But then maybe that analogy meant that he too, might be fixed like the radiator hose, but it had taken Dale days. Glenn didn't think that he could bear to feel this hollow for days.

He hears the sounds of Carol's sobs and then the bang of a door, followed by the harsh pounding of Shane's footsteps as he sprints out. Even Maggie looks up, concerned, but Glenn just can't muster up the energy to try and care.

In some sick way, he almost expects himself to be used to death, because, after all, everyone he used to know is almost definitely dead. And, hell, his job had recently been changed from pizza delivery guy to walker killer in a matter of days.

But it's the unexpected ones that really get to him.

It's the deaths of people like Amy and Jim, the ones who were _survivors_, who'd managed to hang onto life for so long that mess him up. Or the people like Jacque and Dr. Jenner who just suddenly decide to opt out, to let go, like some switch has been flicked, and their survival mode had been deactivated. Because really, if those people can only hang on for so long, before they get torn apart or just too weary to go on, how long can he possibly hope to have?

And the whole situation with Daryl was such a genuine surprise, that it just knocked him twice as hard.

Glenn had honestly been expecting Daryl to be running through the woods, eating squirrels or something, when they went out to look for him. Sure, he'd had that sick feeling at the pit of his stomach that just _told_ him that something was wrong, but that was something that he had just assumed had come with the whole zombie apocalypse. Because, if anyone could survive the end of the world, surely it was Daryl fucking Dixon.

But then they'd arrived at the ridge, and seen the horses nervously shifting around where they'd been tied up, and had looked over the edge. Seen Rick and Shane and… felt a sudden rush of relief when he recognised the figure between them as Daryl. He'd waved down at them, not being able to see the fear and worry from the height, and led the way down the small cliff with a grin plastered all over his face. _Stupid_.

They'd started running then, all together, when they finally figured out that something was wrong.

He didn't think that he'd ever forget skidding up beside T-Dog, and looking down at the mess that was Daryl. Bile had rose in his throat when he'd caught sight of the arrow sticking out of the man's stomach, blood running down his face, and the pool of redness underneath him. It was such a shock to his system, akin to that of being hit by a train, that Glenn had started to sway for a moment when it sank it. But then he'd hardened himself, and sucked it up, because _c'mon, they needed a plan to get Daryl out of there_.

That's who he was. They guy with the plans.

Only, he hadn't got one. When the second, horrifying realisation sunk in, that they were going to have to leave him there, Glenn had felt such a surge of frustration that he had bitten the inside of his cheek harder than he ever had. As blood filled up his mouth, he'd looked up desperately at the treeline above them, and come up with a million solutions… but none of them would work.

Then, by some sort of miracle, Daryl had hauled himself up, and climbed up the damn cliff by himself. All Glenn could do was watch as he struggled and grunted and hissed with the pain, and then watch again as Rick rode off with him at a gallop.

The four of them had been frozen for a minute or two after Rick and Daryl had vanished from sight, until Andrea let out a whimper and then threw up into a bush. T-Dog rubbed her back, looking pale himself, while Shane untied the other horse, frowning and cursing under his breath when the knot didn't undo as easily as he wanted. Glenn just stood there, hardly breathing, and trying to remember how to move again, before Shane clapped him forcefully on the back, and he was forced to stumble a few steps forward.

They walked back to the house in some sort of trance. Glenn had wanted to run all the way back, had longed to break out into a sprint, but it was as if his legs weren't connected to his body, and all he could do was stumble along with the others.

But then the house had come into view, and he had took off running, finally being able to do something right. Shane had yelled for him to wait up, but he hadn't even faltered, and had heard the others starting to run after him a moment or two later.

Then the nightmare had seemed to properly begin.

.

"Glenn? We need you to give some more blood now…"

The sound of Hershel's voice coming from the doorway to the sitting room snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked up sluggishly. He nodded twice, and then manoeuvred himself to his feet, glancing down to attempt and smile at Maggie.

She rubbed his arm gently, before he turned and walked towards Hershel, feeling a spark of something ignite inside him. _At least someone needed him for something. Finally, he could make himself useful again._

Rick was sitting in the chair next to the bed when he entered the room, and he nodded to Glenn as he stood up quickly. Skirting around the bed quickly, and trying desperately not to look at the figure in the bed as he did, Glenn sat down and outstretched his arm, fixing his gaze on the wallpaper that covered the wall opposite him, head turned distinctly away from Daryl. He could feel Rick's stare on him, could almost hear Rick judging him for not looking over at Daryl, but he just _couldn't_.

Because whenever he thought about doing so, his vision would cloud up, and all he would be able to see was red. It flooded his sight, and brought back that same feeling of helplessness that had taken him over in the woods.

Red blood, red clothes, his own red hands as he stared down.

Everything covered in blood.

.

Rick watched in silence as Glenn shuffled into the room, his head bowed down and eyes hooded. He sat down, facing away from the still Daryl, and hunched over even more as he stretched his arm out the other way, clearly indicating for Hershel to start up the line.

He and Hershel exchanged equal looks of confusion and worry, but then Hershel turned his back on Rick to insert the blood transfusion line. "We won't take too much Glenn, just enough to tide him over for today, and then you'll have to wait until tomorrow to donate more. Unless of course, you don't want to donate blood to Daryl…?"

"No. Take as much as he needs," Glenn replied hoarsely, Rick's confusion doubling.

If Glenn wasn't acting weirdly about giving blood, then what was up with him? Hershel seemed to be thinking the same thing, and he raised his eyebrows at Rick when he turned around, Glenn's eyes firmly fixated in the opposite direction to them, and Daryl.

With a shrug, Rick jerked his head towards the door, indicating to Hershel that he would talk to Glenn. "Okay, well I'll be back in a few minutes to disconnect you… Then you should probably turn in for the evening, as you're going to be quite weak and lethargic afterwards." Glenn only nodded in response, not looking up as Hershel exited the room.

He didn't acknowledge Rick, and for a few minutes, Rick just stood there, unsure of how to speak to this new Glenn.

"I, well, are you doing okay, Glenn?" He got a sharp nod for his trouble, and hesitated for another moment before just deciding to be blunt, "You haven't looked at Daryl once since you came in. If this is about not wanting to donate blood, no one in the group is going to be mad at you. It's a big risk to take, and you don't have any obligation to give blood transfusions. I know how tiring and weak it makes you, so just say the word and I'll have Hershel come in here, and we can—"

"No! No, it's not that, not at all."

Rick let out a silent sigh of relief, still looking over at Glenn. He hadn't thought that that had been the problem at all, but he'd had to make sure, and by doing so, had prayed that his tactics would get Glenn to tell him what was really wrong.

"Then what is it?"

Glenn buried his head in his arms again, and Rick heard him take a few deep breaths before he spoke again, "I just… There was so much blood, okay? When we found him, I mean. And I know that it's stupid to be freaked out by some blood, I know that, but I just— It was everywhere, and then—then we thought that we were going to… I'm dealing with it, I am, but I just— I just need some time to…" He raised his head up to look shamefully at Rick, and by doing so, showed just how much his hands were shaking.

He pulled up a chair that had been in the corner, and looked Glenn straight in the eyes, "Hey, don't worry about it, okay? There was a lot of blood, yes, but he's okay. _You_ saved him with your blood, Glenn, _you_ did. You were the only one who could have helped him, and you stepped up to the plate when Daryl needed you. None of us were in the room when they were operating on him. So it's okay to be freaked out. I'm a little freaked out… hell, we all are. But we're going to get through this, okay?"

Rick put a hand on his shoulder, and watched as Glenn nodded his head, even attempting a smile. "Yeah, we will. Thanks, Rick."

"No problem. If you can't get a little freaked at the end of the world, when can you?" He felt a little bit of the tension melt away from him as Glenn chucked, "You know, they've cleaned all the blood off him. It's probably the cleanest that I've ever seen Daryl. So… if you wanted to look over, make sure that he's okay for yourself, it'd be fine. Kind of like acknowledging the elephant in the room…"

Not knowing if he'd spoken too soon, Rick held his breath as Glenn bit his lip. _He wasn't going to do it._

But then, surprising him as only Glenn could, he shut his eyes for a moment, and turned back towards the bed. Then he slowly opened his eyes, and took in the sight that was an unconscious Daryl Dixon.

Rick stayed silent as his eyes flickered over the IV tubes and the oxygen mask, lingering on Daryl's motionless face, before zeroing in on the thick strapping around his ankle, the bright white gauze on his side, and the deep gashes that covered his arms.

Then Glenn looked over at him, his face uncertain but no longer fearful, "Yeah, I don't think that he was even this clean when we were at the CDC."

Neither of them mentioned the scars that they could both clearly see.

.

After that, the tension in the room seemed to disappear.

Hershel came in to disconnect Glenn from the blood transfusion, and remarked that Daryl wasn't looking as pale, which made Glenn beam. Rick couldn't really see the difference, but he smiled along with Glenn, and patted him on the back, so relieved that the old Glenn seemed to be back.

Then Glenn had left, being dragged off by Maggie, to get something to eat, and Andrea and T-Dog had knocked nervously on the door. They'd both been shocked at his appearance, Rick supposed that he had almost desensitised to it by then, but managed to swallow their hesitation, and pull up chairs, whispering their hellos to Daryl, who was still blissfully out cold.

Andrea had even gone as far as to hold his limp hand gently, though she had looked a little awkward while doing it.

The inevitable had happened though, and after only a few minutes of silence, T-Dog was leaning forward and squinting at Daryl's bare torso, "Is that—Are they scars?" His face shifted from one of puzzlement to horror and anger when he saw Rick give a slight nod, and Andrea let out a gasp.

"Yeah. I don't know what the story is any more than you do, so there's nothing that we can do about the situation until he wakes up… And even then, I don't know what we can do."

Rick didn't know a whole lot about abuse victims, despite his status as a police officer, because in the real world, there had been professionals and specialists that would be called in when dealing with abuse victims. There were whole books written about ways to approach these people, and things not to say, and what you were supposed to do when you knew, and all sorts of stuff like that. Rick knew next to none of it, and he was honestly dreading the thought of bringing up the topic.

If the others hadn't seen anything, he might have been able to handle the situation delicately with only he and Hershel knowing, but now that they had caught a glimpse, he knew that most of the group would be curious as hell. Sympathetic and understanding, yes, but curious. Because what else was there to do when the world had ended, except gossip?

He silently cursed himself for not having thrown even a light sheet over Daryl's torso earlier, but Hershel had been in and out, checking and re-checking Daryl's side where he had been impaled on his arrow, and there just hadn't been time.

A sudden image of a very pissed off Daryl Dixon burst into his mind, and Rick winced.

Andrea's other hand was now ghosting over one of the particularly gruesome scars, a thick one that was jagged and looked horribly like what a broken beer bottle might do, but T-Dog saved Rick the trouble, and cleared his throat loudly. She flinched back, and shot an apologetic look towards Daryl, as though he could someone sense in his unconscious state what she had nearly done.

After a few more minutes of muted conversation, Lori knocked softly on the door, and called into Rick that there was dinner ready for him when he wanted it. He noticed that she didn't even glance in, instead trying to tell him as quietly as she could from the opposite side of the door, and he wondered if she would even come in and see Daryl. Lori had been through this situation with both him and Carl before, and he knew that it had nearly broken her each time, so he doubted it.

He left the others still sitting with Daryl, trusting them to watch over him while he was gone, now that he felt some sort of responsibility to the injured man to protect him.

It scared him when he realised that he had never really felt that obligation to Daryl before.

.

Dinner was nothing more than a few canned vegetables and the last of the squirrel meat, but he had learned to appreciate every last morsel of food.

Carl sat next to him at their campfire outside, the sky slowly starting to get darker, and he grilled Rick for information about Daryl. Rick answered as honestly as he could, obviously not saying anything to his son about the multiple scars covering the man, trying to reassure him. "Well, Glenn's just given him some more blood, so that seems to be helping—"

"Like you did for me, dad."

"Yeah, like I gave you my blood, Carl. Hershel seems pleased with those results, and he says that the wound in his side seems to be okay for now, and—"

"But when's he going to wake up?"

Rick sighed, trying to keep up with Carl's overflow of questions, "I don't know, Carl, and neither does Hershel, so don't you go interrogating him as well, okay?" The boy nodded, and stayed silent as Rick continued, "He'll wake up when he's ready to, and there's nothing that we can do about that. Hershel doesn't know how long that it'll take because he hit his head quite badly, but he's okay for now."

Then Lori called Carl over to help her clean up, and he jumped up quickly, "You'll tell me if anything changes, dad?"

"I promise," He replied seriously, and then Carl was off, running around and collecting empty plates from everyone around the fire.

.

A few minutes after dinner, Rick headed back up to the house to let Andrea and T-Dog get some dinner, having told Lori that he didn't know what time he would be back at. The two looked up as he entered, halting their quiet conversation, and stood up with weak smiles, passing by as he tried to smile back.

And then he was alone with Daryl again.

Rick sat back in the chair that he had occupied for most of that afternoon, and yawned, running his hand through his hair. He started to talk again, mostly to fill the silence that stretched out around him, and found himself recounting stories and memories much like the ones that he had been telling the unconscious redneck about earlier.

Through all his stories, Daryl remained unmoving and silent on the bed, the only indication that he was alive being the rise of his chest, and the small fog in the oxygen mask that appeared. He was still and motionless.

Until the second that he wasn't.

If Rick hadn't happened to be staring at Daryl's rough and scarred hands, he wouldn't have seen the twitch that ran through them. Or the way that his head jerked almost imperceptibly to the side. Then Rick's wide eyes were met by Daryl's slightly glazed blue ones, and his mouth dropped open in shock.

"Th'fuck ar'ya yammering on 'bout…?"

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_So there goes another chapter :) I hope that you all liked it! I'd love to hear what you guys thought about this chapter before I post the next one in a few days… I write faster when I'm motivated by your comments!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	6. Chapter 6

_Hey everyone :) Thanks so much for all the reviews from the last chapter! I'm so sorry that I didn't reply to them, but I've been crazy busy :0 I loved all of them though, and you guys are actually the best… Here's the next chapter anyway, so I hope that you all enjoy it!_

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Rick jumped out of his chair faster than he thought he had ever moved before. "Daryl!" The elation and relief in his voice was clearly evident as he took in the whole sight that was the conscious man. _Not dead. Not dead, you didn't kill him, not dead_.

"Aghhh," Daryl moaned, his face contorting in pain as Rick yelled his name, the volume obviously too much. Then he tried to move his body slightly, to see him better Rick thought, and then let out another yelp of pain, all his muscles tensing, and his eyes squeezing closed. His hands fisted tightly by his sides, and started to shake.

Rick froze for a millisecond, and then he was sprinting towards the door, "Hershel!" He shouted loudly, "Hershel get in here _now_, damnit!"

Then he ran back to Daryl, leaning over him, and looking him straight in the eyes, "Daryl, listen to me, Daryl, you have to try and listen to me, okay?" The man grunted and Rick could see his jaw clenching so tightly that it would ache for days, "You had an accident, but you're safe now, okay? You are going to be okay. Hershel will be in here in a minute, and he'll give you something for the pain, but I need you to try and relax, okay, because you're going to hurt yourself. Daryl, can you hear me?"

For a few seconds, nothing happened, and Rick feared that Daryl couldn't hear him. He glanced back at the door desperately, wondering if he should run and yell for Hershel again, but when he looked back, Daryl's eyes were open again, full of agony.

"Fuckin'… hurts…" He managed to get out, through gritted teeth, his breaths coming out in pants. The oxygen mask didn't seem to be doing much.

He could only nod sympathetically, and reached down to grab Daryl's hand, the other man taking advantage of what he had offered, squeezing it as tightly as he could. "I know, Daryl, I know. Hershel will be in in a minute, and then everything will get better."

They were empty words, and both of them knew it. Rick looked back towards the door as he felt his hand practically caving in under the pressure that Daryl was applying.

"Fuck you… Rick Grimes," Daryl spat out, but instead of malice, his words were full of pain, weakness, and… fear.

Hershel chose that moment to burst into the room, Patricia behind him, and Rick went to step back out of the way when Hershel came closer. The hand that was crushing his tightened its grip though, and Rick found himself rooted to the spot, Daryl's impossibly strong hold on his hand pulling him back.

He looked down at him, and found that Daryl's face had closed off, the fear and pain that he had let Rick see replaced by a scowl and eyes that were barely open.

Not fazed in the slightest, Hershel crossed quickly to the other side of the bed, and leaned down to Daryl, "Daryl, can you hear me? Do you know what happened? Do you know where you are?" He then pulled out a small penlight, and flicked it on, shining it in Daryl's eyes, "Can you follow the light for me?"

"Jus' gimme… th'fuckin' drugs… old man…" Came the wheezed but angry response, and then, seeming out of nowhere, Daryl brought up his other hand and knocked the penlight sideways so he wasn't being assaulted by the light.

"I can't give you anything until I can assess your pupil's response to light, and make sure that your brain isn't going to explode out of your ears," Hershel replied dryly, and looked up at Rick, who was certain that that a small smile was displayed on his face. Typical Daryl Dixon.

"Fuck you… old man," Daryl said, but lay still as Hershel brought the light up to his eyes again, following the penlight as it was swung from right to left, "M'brain's fuckin' fine…"

When he was finished, Hershel nodded to Patricia, who hurried forward with a syringe filled with a pitiful amount of clear liquid. She injected it straight into the IV port in his hand, and Rick waited to see a change, his hand already numb from the way that Daryl was gripping onto him. But nothing really happened.

Daryl still remained trembling on the bed, his body taunt and looking ready to snap. His lips were tightly pressed together underneath the oxygen mask, and he was breathing in deeply through his nose, pain now evident once more in every line of his face. Daryl's non injured leg was trembling on the bed, in what Rick thought was some sort of way to try and relieve the pain. It didn't seem to be working, and neither did the drugs.

.

Daryl was pissed off.

He'd woken up in what had been a hazy flicker of light, and the sound of someone's voice. It was quiet and relaxed, and confused the hell out of him. What the fuck was going on? Words slipped out of his mouth, sounding distant and foggy, and he honestly didn't have any idea what he'd just said.

Then his vision had filtered back in, and he'd found himself staring at Rick Grimes' face. Within a second or two, Rick Grimes had been staring back at him, and then he'd yelled, the sound making Daryl's head feel like it was going to explode.

In an attempt to sit up (so he could tell Rick to shut up mostly), Daryl was then hit with an overwhelming force of pain, and he cried out, something that he hadn't done since he was a child. Even then, he'd gotten punished for it, but the agony was so blinding that he heard himself let out another cry. He didn't think that he even moved more than an inch without _this_ happening, and the thought almost hurt as much as the pain that seemed to be slowly killing him.

He didn't even notice that Rick had gone somewhere until he came back, his voice soft but firm. "… try to listen to… accident, but you're… be okay. Hershel will be here in a… to relax, okay… going to hurt yourself… Daryl, can you hear me?" Rick stopped speaking then, and somewhere through the sea of agony, he managed to crack open his eyes.

There was something on his face, which covered his mouth and nose. He didn't like the feeling, and tried to resist the urge to rip it off, on the basis of that he was positive that he didn't have enough strength to lift even his little finger, and every part of his body was screaming at him.

But then he remembered that Rick fucking Grimes was right beside him, and that he was practically about to burst out crying like a fucking girl with the pain, so he managed to say, "Fuckin' hurts," It was a weak attempt to justify his weakness, but it was all that he could say, considering that it felt like someone was sitting on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

Daryl knew from experience that the feeling just came from pain. He must be hurt pretty bad if he was already at the 'person on chest,' stage.

Then Rick grabbed his hand gently, and just held it, and the feeling was so foreign and unanticipated that Daryl had no idea what to do for a moment. But then another wave of throbbing hit him, and he clenched both his hands, squeezing the _fuck_ out of Rick's hand. He didn't care though. Guy shouldn't have held his fucking hand in the first place, it wasn't like anyone else ever had in his lifetime.

The other old man, the one who wasn't Dale, was suddenly in his face, and Rick was moving away, and _fuck everything just hurt so much_, and then Daryl realised that he was pulling Rick back. He wanted to let go, wanted to tell Rick to get lost, but he didn't really. Daryl didn't know these 'farm people.' And he sure as hell didn't want to be trapped in a room with two of 'em, so he held the words that he had been about to spit at Rick back. Surely Officer Friendly was better than nobody.

He'd deny every word of it though.

Time was beginning to drift in and out, and Daryl found himself losing his grip on it. He could hear himself saying things, and watched his hand weakly bat away a shining light that was threatening to make his eyes bleed, but he was slipping further and further into the sea of pain.

It scared him, not being in control, and feeling helpless and vulnerable. He wanted to shove everyone off him and storm out, but all that he was sure that all he'd be able to accomplish would be closing his eyes, and slipping into unconsciousness. Maybe he'd die, if someone was feeling especially generous.

Anything to get rid of the overwhelming pain.

But instead of rebelling or dying, he found himself following the old man's fucking annoying torch thing, and clutching Rick's hand with an intensity that Daryl hadn't thought that he could muster up. It was that, or scream though.

Then, at last, he heard Hershel confirm quietly through the haze of pain that he could have some drugs, and Daryl could have cried with relief. Finally. The old blonde bitch, the one who'd been married to the guy Shane'd killed, moved into his blurry vision, and was picking up his fisted hand. A slight burning sensation in his hand told him that they'd finally given him something, and he tried to relax in the anticipation of some relief.

He figured that it'd be similar to the time that he'd ended up in hospital when his Pa had accidently swung a rusty crowbar at him in a drunken haze, putting all his strength into the throw at a close distance, and had shattered his radius bone in his forearm. He'd only been a kid, but he still remembered screaming all the way to the fucking emergency room when Merle had come home a few hours later, and the drugs that they'd given him. The medication had made him forget his pain, and his Pa, and even the fear of returning home afterwards had melted away.

So Daryl lay there, and waited. Waited for that feeling of relief and peace, and tried not to think about how broken he felt.

When nothing happened, when nothing flooded through his system apart from ice cold agony and burning pain, he felt like crying. Instead, he flicked his eyes over to Hershel, who was studying him carefully, and said, "Gimme th'fuckin' drugs! Nothing's fuckin' happening!"

"I gave you the drugs, Daryl," Came the reply, and it sounded regretful and full of pity. Pity that Daryl didn't want or need, and that just made him want to either throw up, or smash someone's head in, "But I only have a limited supply, and I don't want to give you any more than that with your head injuries. I truly am sorry, but that's all that I can administer without fear of killing you or depleting the small stash of painkillers that I have left."

During his spiel, Daryl had raised his head up a centimetre to give the old man the most menacing glare that he could manage, though he expected that it looked pathetic, and he then slammed it back into the pillow with a howl.

"Fuck you!" He yelled out, from under the oxygen mask that was starting to feel like it was suffocating him, "Fuck you all!"

He then struggled to lift his hand up and rip the fucking thing off, and let out a moan when he could feel someone grabbing his arm, and forcing it down on the bed. Panicking, Daryl tried to let go of Rick's hand, to fight the hands that were holding his arm down, only to find that the tables had turned, and that Rick was gripping his hand tightly. He tried to wrench his hand out of the man's hold, and could feel his breaths quickening when he couldn't.

They were pinning him down, he realised, pinning him down so that he couldn't escape.

Where there had just been pain, came fear and memories and everything just seemed to be rushed into overdrive.

Daryl found himself letting out a small whimper, but then he realised what he had done, and started shouting for them to let go of him. His body betrayed him then, and started to flinch away from the hands holding him down, and Daryl let out a scream as he involuntarily tried to buck and thrash them off. He tried to kick them off, only to find one of his legs was weighed down and agony lanced up his calf and thigh when he moved it a fraction, and a scream was ripped out of him.

The more he fought, the more pain seared through him, and then the more terror consumed him, and then he struggled even harder.

"Get th'fuck off me! Lemme go, lemme go! Stop, stop, get yer fuckin' hands _off_ me!"

He could hear himself yelling and practically begging them, something that Daryl Dixon hadn't done in years. But he was weak and felt like every part of him was burning and being ripped apart, so he pleaded for them to let go in between cursing. Then his words faded into unintelligible half sentences that were punctuated by gasps, and he was almost choking, and he couldn't breathe, and they were still fucking holding him down with strong hands.

Within minutes came the point that he reached far too late, when he could feel everything melting away, and himself slipping. His movements were becoming slower and more sluggish compared to the wild and frenzied ones that the panic and adrenaline had fuelled, and the shouts and yells that were echoing all around him started to fade. Then the pain was gone, and he was granted a moment of clarity to think that he was going to make whoever did this to him _pay_.

Because he felt like he was in hell, and he had vowed years ago that he would never let anyone make him feel this way again.

.

Rick held onto Daryl's flailing arm and pinned it to the bed firmly, trying desperately not to break down at the sight of Daryl thrashing against their holds.

He was begging and screaming for them to let go, but with the way that he was fighting them, Hershel was afraid that he was going to hurt himself even more, and Rick had to say that he agreed with him. However, he wasn't sure that holding the man down was the best way to deal with the situation.

It was the only way though. Hershel couldn't give him any more drugs, and Daryl was half out of his mind with pain, not seeming to be listening to Hershel as he tried to be heard over Daryl's shouts. This was the end of the world, and all that they had to offer was a shameful amount of pain medication, that didn't seem to do shit, and some sugar coated words to try and relieve the pain of grievous injuries that would have killed anyone who wasn't Daryl Dixon.

"Daryl, listen to me! Daryl, you need to calm down! You need to stop fighting us! Daryl—"

Hershel was getting nowhere though, and with each second that passed, Daryl was getting more panicked. The look in his eyes was pure fear and agony, and his whole body was trying to fight against them, despite his wounds. Blood was already starting to seep through the white gauze on his side.

He snapped his head towards the door as Shane and T-Dog burst into the room, hearing the commotion and madness no doubt. They both froze at the doorway, watching as Rick, Hershel, and Patricia tried desperately to calm Daryl down and stop him from hurting himself.

"Get over here and help," Rick said loudly, kick starting them into moving. Trying to be as gentle as they could, T-Dog and Shane both grabbed a leg, one that was kicking around wildly, the other trembling furiously on the bed, and held the limbs down with as much force as they dared. Shane met his eyes, confusion and worry clouding them, though the emotions were masked thickly so that Rick was the only one who'd be able to identify them, but all he could do was shake his head.

Rick honestly had no idea what he was supposed to do in a situation like this. He didn't know what to say to anyone, had no words whatsoever to soothe Daryl or reassure the group or comfort Carol.

The situation was just that fucked up.

After what felt like an hour, Daryl finally began to get weaker, and his incomprehensible shouts faded to nothing. With one last look at Rick, but it was like he wasn't even seeing anything, his eyes rolled back in his head, and his whole body went limp.

Rick collapsed back into the chair, and buried his head in his hands.

.

"What the hell just happened?"

Shane asked the question that was on everyone's minds after a few minutes of silence, but Rick couldn't do anything except fist his hands in his hair, and try to forget what he had just witnessed. For a moment or two, he didn't think that anyone was going to answer, until Hershel finally spoke up.

"He was in a tremendous amount of pain. I have nothing stronger to give him, and even then, I have to try and ration the pain relieving drugs. I used more than half of them on Carl, I still am giving him a small dosage each day, and there just isn't going to be enough to take the edge off Daryl's pain. In addition to the agony that he must be going through, he had what I can only describe as a panic attack, and started to thrash around. He would have injured himself even further had we not intervened."

Then there was silence again, as all the occupants of the room took deep breaths, and tried to come to terms with Hershel's words.

Rick ran a hand over the stubble that was accumulating on his face, and sighed, "Don't give any more painkillers to Carl. He can manage without them." Hershel nodded quietly, and Rick felt a stab of guilt at stopping his son's medication. But not as much guilt as he had felt while he had been holding Daryl down while he screamed. "There any towns around here? Big enough ones to have resources, but not with a huge population."

He tried to ignore Shane's stare that he could feel burning into him, as he looked at Hershel, who was considering the question. "There's one that I can think of, bout forty minutes' drive from here. What are you thinking, son?"

"I'm thinking that there's no way that I'm going to let _that_," Rick gestured towards Daryl's motionless body on the bed, "happen again. First thing tomorrow I'm going to head into the town, and get some drugs, painkillers, whatever I can find. You said that you needed more antibiotics as well, didn't you?" Hershel nodded warily, frowning slightly, but not objecting outright to Rick's proposal. "Right, it's done then. Write a list. I'll set out at first light."

Shane took a few steps closer to Rick, from where he had backed away after Daryl had passed out, "Hold on, hold on now. Rick there's no way that you can just head into an unknown town that's probably crawling with a thousand walkers. No way, man."

"No, there's no way that I'm going to let that man wake up without adequate pain relief. You saw what happened, Shane. It nearly killed him, and that's on me. Daryl never would have gotten hurt if I'd insisted that someone go with him to look for Sophia, or if I had noticed that he wasn't back sooner. Hell, he wouldn't have even been out there if I hadn't left Sophia in the first place out in the woods! So I am going to go into the town, and get some supplies, and that's final."

"That's bullshit, man, and you know it! This wasn't your fault, no more than it was mine! The guy's a stubborn bastard, and there wasn't nothing that was going to stop him from going by himself. And this little mission that you've decided to go on is suicide. It's stupid and reckless, and is probably going to get you killed!"

"Hey, both of you shut up!" T-Dog's voice cut through their argument, and Rick became aware that both him and Shane were towering over opposite sides of the bed, facing each other down, and he felt instantly ashamed. This wasn't what Daryl needed, even if he was unconscious. Shane seemed to realise it as well, and he looked down for a moment at the ground. "Take it outside if you need to, but this isn't helping anyone. I agree with Rick, but I don't think that it should be decided lightly. It's late, and we're all exhausted, so you should revisit the topic in the morning."

Rick nodded wearily at T-Dog, and looked over at Shane. He shrugged slightly, and then said, "Okay, man. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Then Hershel ushered all of them out of the room, saying that he needed to make sure that Daryl hadn't caused himself any more damage, and that the room was too crowed. Rick allowed himself to be shooed out, and leaned heavily against the wall in the hall. T-Dog was engulfed by Andrea, Maggie, and Glenn, who had been huddled together outside the room, their faces pale. He glanced back at Rick for a moment, and then went into the living room with them to explain what had happened.

Shane stood next to him, and both of them stayed like that in silence for a few minutes. His eyes closed, Rick could feel the start of a headache coming on, and he let out a sigh that seemed to make him even more exhausted.

"What if he's not okay, Shane?" He said quietly, "What if he's not okay?"

There was no answer.

.

Daryl dreamed of Merle.

His brother stood above him, sneering down at Daryl as he lay still in the dirt.

"Yer going to die, little brother. Yer goin' to suffer, and they're just going to watch, and laugh until you finally give up. That Rick, the one that you was holdin' onta like a little girl? He thinks that yer nothin' but trash, and he can't wait to be rid of yer worthless ass."

He frowned, and squinted up at his older brother in disbelief, "No, that's not true. They—I hunt for 'em. They need me."

"Need ya?" Merle burst out laughing, and Daryl winced at the harsh sound that echoed around him, "Th'only thing they need you fer is to make them feel good about themselves. You don't mean a damn thing to those idiots, Darlena, and yer a fool to think anything else." Then Merle leaned down, and got right up close to his ear, "You shoulda killed that stupid cop the second that he told you that he left ol' Merle. Cause now… now he's gonna kill you."

Daryl tried to shake his head, and move backwards, but Merle reached out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

"An' you know what, Daryl? You ain't never gonna find that little girl. You practically killed her yerself."

Then Daryl's world exploded into a mess of pain and screams, and the sight of a mangled and twisted body staring up at him. Sophia's face was half torn off, and her features almost unrecognisable, but she still managed to blink up at him.

"Why didn't you find me, Mr. Daryl?"

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_I hope that chapter was okay, and that everyone liked it :) More to come in a few days, I promise. I'd love to hear some feedback from you all, and to get to know what you all think of this! _

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	7. Chapter 7

_Hey guys! I'm so so sorry about the longer wait for this chapter… I went down the country and there was no internet :0 Anyway, thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: Ihasabukkit, MarionArnold, LonelyWhiteWolf99, Emberka-2012, deelove1, tracys dream, and the Guest :) You guys are amazing!_

_I hope this chapter is worth the wait…!_

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Rick waits outside the room until Hershel finally comes out, and he's certain that the other man knows what he's about to ask. Shane had left after ten minutes or so of silence, had trudged out the door with a grunt of explanation, and was most likely asleep by now.

"He's fine. Still unconscious, but breathing okay. I switched him from the oxygen mask to a nasal cannula, so he might be slightly more comfortable. Pressure is still low, but I'll have Glenn give another transfusion after breakfast, and we'll see how things are then." Hershel paused in his summary of Daryl's symptoms, and looked him up and down, "You need to sleep, Rick. Go and be with your wife, Patricia and I will take turns sitting with him tonight."

"But—"

He is silenced by the weight of Hershel's glare, "Get some rest, Rick. If you're still considering going into one of the towns tomorrow, then you need all your strength."

Too exhausted and drained to argue with him, Rick looks at Hershel for a long moment, and then nods his head. "I— Okay…" He turns and makes his way to the door, darkness covering the world outside the warm and cosy house. Just as he puts his hand on the handle, he turns, and adds, "Thank you, Hershel. For everything you've done for us."

Without waiting for an answer, Rick slips out the door, and pads down the few steps. He looks back for a moment when he's almost at their campsite, and can see the silhouette of Hershel, standing where he'd left him, light filling the corridor.

Rick can only hope that he's reconsidering his decision to kick them off his land.

.

He wakes up the next morning to the sound of Carl talking loudly just outside their tent. Rick hears Shane offering to bring Carl in to see Daryl, but, to his surprise, his son is silent for a few minutes, before answering, "No thanks, Shane. I think that I'll go in with my dad."

Rick smiles slightly at that, at the fact that Carl still wanted him over Shane, but the smile fades when he remembers what he had decided to do the night before. The thought of leaving the safety of the farm, leaving his wife and son behind for what felt like the millionth time, made his heart sink, but it was better than the overwhelming guilt and nausea that he had felt while looking down at Daryl, splayed out unconscious on the bed like a doll.

Besides, he reasons, if Daryl died, they were all screwed.

They all took the meat that he brought back from hours spent in the wood for granted. It was fresh meat, which tasted like heaven when they were hungry enough, and Rick couldn't remember a time when they had properly thanked Daryl for the food. Hell, they didn't have to do anything with it except cook it and eat it, because Daryl took it upon himself to skin and gut the animals himself. When Sophia had been in camp, he had made a special effort to keep the squirrels out of her sight until she was about to eat the meat, because of one time when she had cried upon seeing the tiny bodies slung on his back.

There was no doubt in Rick's mind that they would have died without Daryl Dixon, and his knowledge. He was the one who told them what berries not to eat, and where would be the best place to set up a tent in the hopes of avoiding the masses of small flying insects that came out at night, how to know if water was clean or if they should boil it, how to start a fire, and a thousand other things.

The more he thought about the small things, the more horrible Rick felt, and the more determined he was in his decision to go and scavenge for pain medication and antibiotics.

With his heart heavy, but his mind clear, Rick stepped out of his tent to find that Shane had just broken the news of his trip to the others. He glared at his former partner, with one arm around his son who had rushed to hug him the second he appeared, feeling Lori's disapproving stare heavy on his shoulders.

Dale was murmuring something under his breath, not looking pleased, while Andrea only bit her lip and looked away. With a look back at the farmhouse, Glenn told him that he'd go with him, but that Hershel said that he had to stay close for Daryl. He looked upset and disappointed when he was telling Rick, and like he thought he was about to be punished.

"That's okay, Glenn. Daryl needs you more than I do, so your place is here," Rick said, attempting to give him a reassuring nod. He's too tired to make it look believable though, and Lori is still just staring at him, and Rick knows exactly what she's thinking, even if she won't say it in front of everyone, "Anyone else willing to come along with me?"

He looks at Shane, because he's _Shane_, and feels something break deep inside him when the other man doesn't move. He just stands there, closer to Lori than Rick is, with his arms crossed over his chest, and his face stony. He knows that Rick is counting on him, because Rick is always counting on him, and he doesn't know what to think when a few seconds have passed, and Shane hasn't said anything_. Have they really all changed so much that his best friend no longer wants to have his back?_

Rick is aware of T-Dog speaking up, and volunteering himself, and then Andrea immediately after him. They didn't hesitate to offer to go with him.

With one last look at Shane, because Rick doesn't know what he might do if he keeps looking at that cold expression on his best friend's face, he tears his gaze away, and hears himself that Andrea and T-Dog for offering to go with him. He's going to need everyone that he can get.

Then Dale is arguing that Andrea can't shoot a gun, and that it would be far too dangerous for her to go, and Rick can see her getting angrier by the second from his overprotectiveness, "I can handle myself, Dale! I may not have good aim, but I know how to use a knife. I'd still go with them, even if I was only armed with a cheese grater! This is _Daryl_; it's something that I need to do. So just stay out of it, and let me make my own decisions."

The last part is a direct barb to the CDC, and Dale only shakes his head, in that way that only he can. The way that lets you know that you're wrong, and he's right, and that's he's just humouring you.

Andrea storms off to get her knife, and tell Hershel where they're going, and T-Dog retreats back to his tent to gather his own supplies. Carol, who had been sitting by the unlit fire, casts a long look out at the woods, and quietly disappears into the RV. She's thinking about Sophia, and how no one had mentioned going out to look for her, Rick knows, but all that he can do is watch as she shuts the RV door. He has to prioritize, and it feels like its tearing him apart.

Then it's just Shane, Lori, and Carl standing around, and Rick asks his son to run into the house, and get a list of things that Hershel needs them to get. Shane stalks past him, heading over to his tent, but pauses just as they're standing shoulder to shoulder.

"_Why_?" Rick whispers, because he just has to know.

"Someone has to look after your family, and the rest of the camp. This little 'mission,' of yours, it's reckless and probably going to get someone else killed. Man, when are you going to see that I'm just trying to keep everyone here safe?"

.

Lori follows him into their tent, and he can feel her eyes on him when he turns his back, and shrugs out of his shirt. He waits for her to say something, knowing that she won't be able to stay silent for much longer. After only a minute, his tactic works.

"I just don't understand why this is something that you have to do."

He slips a clean(ish) shirt over his head, and sighs, "You haven't seen him, Lori. He's going to die if I don't try and find some antibiotics. And it's torture to let him wake again without proper pain killers… you didn't see him last night, when he did. It was hell for me, so I can't even imagine what he had been going through."

"What if you get hurt? What if a walker gets you? I just…. I think that you need to consider the risks."

"I have, but this is something that I need to do." He looks up to meet her eyes, and frowns when he sees something unknown in her eyes, "Are you… Are you trying to convince me to stay behind? Because, if I do, Daryl will _die_. And he'll die in complete _agony_."

Lori swallowed hard, but that glint of hardness is still in her eyes, "The town could be crawling with walkers. I can't lose you, Rick, not again. And neither can Carl. I don't want Daryl Dixon to die any more than the next person, but if it came down to you or him… Please don't do this, Rick."

He took a step back, shaking his head, "I can't just let an innocent man die, not without at least trying to save him. Daryl has done more for us than anyone, and he doesn't deserve this… I'll see you when I get back."

Then, he kissed her gently on the forehead, and walked out of the tent, without another word. He had no other words.

Carl was waiting for him with a list, that was filled with words of drugs that Rick could barely pronounce. "I'll take you in to see Daryl when I get back, if you still want to, okay?" He says as Carl gives him another hug, feeling Carl nod against his chest. Hershel seems to be drawing T-Dog a map in the distance, and Glenn's hugging Andrea, and then he knows that it's time to go. "Okay. Look after your mom for me while I'm gone, and don't wander off, okay?"

Rick makes his way straight over to the car, glad that the keys are in the ignition so that he doesn't have to talk to anyone else. He lays his shotgun on the ground, along with his knife, and keeps his handgun in its holster. It's a comforting weight on his hip, and one that Rick never thought could make him feel so much better.

When T-Dog and Andrea climb into the car, he speeds away from the far, down small country roads, with T-Dog giving him directions when he needs them. Other than that though, the car is silent, and Rick is glad of that fact.

He pictures Lori and Carl in his mind, but every time that he starts to think that he's not doing the right thing, a flashback of Daryl screaming on the bed slams into his consciousness, and he grips the steering wheel that bit tighter. He _can't_ let that happen again.

.

The sky was falling.

Daryl stared as small pieces of blue splintered, and came crashing down. The holes that were appearing were filled with darkness and the more he stared at them, the more he started to feel pinpricks of pain assaulting him.

Pain stabbed him in the abdomen, only for a split second, and again in his head, as he looked up at the black shards of sky, confusion taking him over.

Then he could hear someone talking to him, but there was no one around, and it sounded like he was underwater, "Daryl… can you… we're all rooting for… Rick went… I'm sorry that…" The weird feeling of pain started to rise up inside him, getting higher and higher, and the voice was getting more and more clear, but he just couldn't take it, so he ran.

He ran through the woods with the trees that were falling down around him one by one.

There was screaming too, the hoarse screams that cut into him like knives, and made him run all the faster. Then Daryl realised that he could hear himself screaming, over and over, and that someone was laughing. He reached up to feel his mouth, to see if he actually was making the noise, but then maggots started spilling from his lips, and blood was seeping out all around him in the forest.

Merle was beside him, doing that laugh that came out when he was either drunk or high, the laugh that Daryl knew would be the same whether he was having a beer with him, or watching someone beat the crap out of him. Daryl hated that laugh, because it brought back all the memories of being a kid, when Merle decided that he couldn't take it anymore. His big brother would go off and get high or wasted, and then stumble back to watch their father try and 'make a man' out of Daryl. His protector would turn into an observer, sometimes joining in when his cigarettes needed putting out. Daryl had the burns for those times.

So he collapsed in the middle of the forest, his screams echoing around him, Merle's laughter making him curl in on himself. Blood was slowly turning the forest floor crimson, and pieces of the sky dotted the ground around him.

Sophia was there too, shrieking in terror, and begging Daryl to save her.

He looked up to try and find her, but blood started to run from his eyes, and all he could make out was a doll on the ground that was being swallowed up by the blood. "Help me, Mr. Daryl, help me! _Please_! Mr. Daryl, _please_!"

"Ya killed her, Daryl… Ya weren't there fer that little girl, and now she's gon' die!" Merle taunted him cruelly, putting out his cigarette on Daryl's arm, "You ain't never gon' save her now!"

.

Glenn waited until Rick and the others had driven off out of eyeshot, before he turned around.

Lori had Carl protectively in her arm, while Shane scowled off into the distance. He could see Carol crying at the table in the RV when he squinted in the window. Then he looked away, because he had nothing to offer Carol and her grief, and the thought of Sophia still out there in the woods sent a stab of pain through his heart.

"I'm going to, uh, head inside," He told Dale, who had frowned at the car when it had driven away, like Shane, but in a disapproving way. Shane had looked more… bloodthirsty… but surely that couldn't be the right word.

Shaking his head to try and get rid of the thought, Glenn watched as Dale gave him a distracted nod, before making his way back to the RV roof.

He went in search of Maggie then, finding her in the kitchen talking quietly to Beth. She spotted him mid-sentence, and trailed off in what she was saying so she could walking over and enclose him in a hug, "How're you all holding up?"

"Um, okay, I guess. Rick and the others just headed to that town, and everyone else is just… I don't know. It's different this time, cause with the other people that we lost, they were just gone like _that_. And we learned how to adjust, like that. But with Daryl, I don't know. We don't know what's going to happen, and… no one really knows how to deal with it." His words came out in a rush, and Glenn found himself saying things that he hadn't even realised until they were already said.

Beth smiled sympathetically at him, and left to give them some privacy, but not before brushing him slightly on the arm on her way out. "I'm praying for y'all," She said softly, and then she was gone.

Glenn buried his head in the crook of Maggie's neck as she pulled him closer, and breathed in her smell. It smelt like flowers and fresh air and a hint of horses and… _safety_. It was like he had been running for so long, and then he'd met her, and he'd felt at peace.

Then Hershel walked into the kitchen, Glenn and Maggie quickly pulling apart before he could get a chance to properly see what they had been doing. He frowned slightly, but didn't comment on it, to Glenn's relief, "If you feel up to it, Glenn, I'd like to give Daryl another transfusion now."

With one last glance at Maggie, he turned and followed Hershel into the room down the hall, the one that had haunted his dreams the night before instead of walkers and geeks. He had woken up in a cold sweat, visions of blood and screaming taking a few seconds the fade from his mind. But even then, they hadn't really faded. He still had to close his eyes briefly when he caught sight of Daryl, and remind himself that there was no blood, and then when he opened them again, the unconscious Daryl was clean of blood.

Glenn took a seat in the chair that he had been in the day before, outstretching his arm automatically, "So, um, how's he doing today?"

"Blood pressure's still low, but his wounds look okay so far. He hasn't regained consciousness since last night, so I'm hoping that he'll stay under until Rick returns with the pain medication." Glenn nodded at that, shuddering at the memory of sitting almost paralysed in the living room, hearing Daryl's pleas and screams coming from _that_ room. "There's not much that I can do for him, apart from the blood transfusions, so we just have to wait and see what way his condition goes."

Then he brought over the needle, and prepared to put in the IV line. Glenn winced, and tried his best not to look at it, but wherever he cast his gaze, it just kept slipping back to the needle. Hershel noticed his struggles with a wry smile, saying "After everything that's happened, you're nervous about an IV needle?"

"Not nervous, just, uh, I don't know. Can you just stick it in already?"

So he did, Glenn gasping slightly as the needle entered his vein, and then within a minute or two, his blood was flowing into Daryl. Glenn was watching Daryl closely as Hershel busied himself with other things in the room, trying to determine if he was the same shade of pale, or perhaps slightly healthier looking. He couldn't tell.

Hershel left then after a few minutes, telling Glenn that he would be back in a few minutes to check on them.

Glenn wondered what to do for a few minutes, and then finally settled on holding one of Daryl's hands in his own, and staring at his scars. While he didn't think that he would be able to get any words out if he decided to talk, he didn't want Daryl to think that he was alone, so Glenn settled for just sitting there quietly.

But then Daryl let out a low moan, and his head turned slightly on the pillow. Glenn froze. Daryl's head tossed to the other side.

He opened his mouth to call for Hershel, to _scream_ for him actually, but then suddenly he found himself talking to Daryl in a soft tone, "Daryl? Daryl, can you hear me? Um, we're all rooting for you," Beside him, Daryl let out another moan, and his hand twitched in Glenn's, "Are you in pain? Rick went to get you some pain killers. He, um, he's gonna be back real soon, so just hang on, okay?" Daryl turned his face towards him, and it tightened in pain, "I'm sorry that this happened. I should have gone with you, or noticed you weren't back earlier, or found you faster, or… something. I'm sorry, Daryl."

Daryl had stopped moving his head by that point, his face slack once again, and his hand limp in Glenn's. But Glenn had one more thing to add, and he desperately hoped that somehow Daryl could hear him, even deep in his unconscious state.

"Daryl? You're going to be okay, you know. We're all here for you, and you're going to be fine, and I just—I just need you to know that you're going to be okay. So just, hold on, okay? Because Rick will be back soon, and then things will be okay."

.

They pulled into the town as quietly as they could, eyes darting around warily for any walkers.

Rick's heart was in his mouth, but there was no way that he could back away now, and, besides, he wouldn't want to. The car prowled along the empty streets, Rick making the turns that T-Dog whispered to him. Cars were parked all over the street, door wide open, and blood dried on the windows, but there was no sign of anyone.

"Okay, that's the doctor's office, up there on the right. And then the pharmacy is two blocks away," T-Dog hissed to Rick, looking up from where he had been studying the map.

"Right, here's the plan. I'll head into the doctor's office, while you guys go around to the pharmacy." Rick whispered, as they all lay low in their seats. "Grab any medications that you can get, as well as anything else that Hershel might need."

Andrea frowned, "We shouldn't split up, Rick. You need backup."

He lifted his head up to do another scan of the area, before slouching back down in his seat, and answering Andrea, "There's no other way. We don't have time for both if we stay together. This place feels like a ticking time bomb. I don't like how we haven't seen any walkers, there should have been at least one or two already. It's a big town, so where are all the walkers? You two take the car, and head back here when you're finished. I'll make my way to the pharmacy if I'm done earlier, okay?"

They both reluctantly nodded, not liking the plan, but feeling the uneasy atmosphere that was pressing down on them. "Be safe," Andrea whispered at him as he slipped out of the car, and T-Dog slid into the driver's seat.

He nodded grimly, adding, "Don't use your guns if you can help it. We can't afford to make any noise." Rick grabbed one of the bags in the front seat, and then closed the car door.

Then the car was driving slowly off, and he was slinking across the street to the doctor's office.

It was silent as the grave as he opened the door quietly, his knife at the ready, and his gun at his hip. His shotgun was slung over his shoulders by its strap, but he prayed that he wouldn't have to use any firearms. He checked behind the desk, in the waiting room, and in the bathrooms for walkers before he headed towards the back.

There were none, and the only sounds were his soft footsteps on the ground. There wasn't much in the first doctor's office, some bottles of pills that he didn't recognise but that he took anyway, and a few sealed syringes. But the second one was like a gold mine. It must have been a cross between a second office, and a supply room for all their medications and equipment.

There were cabinets filled with prescription bottles that he stuffed in the bag, and numerous bottles of liquid medications. IV bags were piled up on top of each other, so he grabbed some of them, and tubing, and clean needles, and everything that he had dared to hope to find.

Within minutes, he had cleaned the place out, his bag filled to the brim and heavy. Rick wondered if T-Dog and Andrea were having as much luck as he was.

Just as he was heading out, he spotted an oxygen tank sitting by the door that made him hesitate. How much spare oxygen did Hershel have? Daryl's breathing was still terrible last time he had checked, and he doubted that Hershel had canister after canister of the stuff just lying around. Rick glanced around once more, before bending down to pick the thing up. It was a relatively large canister, so it was heavy, but he thought that he would be able to manage it for a few blocks.

_But what if_— He forced the thought out of his head, and secured the bag more tightly on his shoulders, before hoisting the oxygen tank into his arms properly. He was able to manoeuvre the tank so that he only needed onto arm to hold it in place, so he was able to have his knife in his other hand. It worked perfectly.

Rick moved towards the doors onto the street stealthily. But just as he was about to bust out into the sunshine, he heard something. He froze.

It sounded like a moan. The kind of sound that a walker made.

But it wasn't just one moan. It was the sound of dozens of walkers combined, and if he listened carefully, he could even hear the shuffling of their feet. Rick forced himself to stay calm, and peek out the window silently, to try and gauge how bad of a situation that he had found himself in. It was pretty bad.

Coming down the street, from the direction that they had drove in, came a whole herd of walkers. There was no sign of T-Dog or Andrea. He estimated about a hundred walkers, at least.

And they were getting closer.

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_So there it is! Cliff hanger :) I will try and get the next chapter up quickly if you guys want! I love hearing everyone's thoughts, and would especially like to hear from the 'silent readers,' the ones that put this on alert and favourite :) Thanks a million for all the alerts and favourites, by the way! I appreciate all the support you guys have for this._

_Also, I'll be posting another Walking Dead story in the next few days (a long one-shot I'm thinking), so keep an eye out for that if you want :)_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	8. Chapter 8

_Hey guys! Thanks so much for all the reviews for the previous chapter :) They all really motivated me, and I loved every one of them. I hope that you enjoy this chapter now…_

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Rick was screwed.

The level of dangerous that the situation was currently rating was so high that he could barely even register it. His heart was racing as he ducked his head down underneath the window, and tried desperately to rack his brain for something. What were his options?

He could retreat back to one of the offices, and hole up in there until the herd passed. But then he ran the risk of being trapped and them picking up his scent. If that happened, then he would have no way of escape, as the windows in the offices were too small for him to fit out through. Also, if he waited it out, T-Dog and Andrea might walk out of the pharmacy, and find themselves surrounded. He couldn't let that happen either.

But the walkers were shuffling closer and closer to the doctor's office that he was in, and his time was running out. He had to make a decision.

He glanced out the window once more, and bit his lip, slamming his head back into the door behind him. He was going to have to make a run for it. But the bag on his back was heavy and filled as much as he could get in it, and Rick didn't want to have to take even one thing out of it. They needed everything that was in the bag, and maybe the oxygen tank even more. His shot gun was pressing into his back painfully, but he knew that Shane would kill him if he left it behind.

The seconds were ticking by, and Rick could feel the familiar feeling of fear and horror welling up inside him. He decided to take one last look out the window, before making a run for it, and he prayed desperately to see the silver car that they had arrived in waiting outside for him.

The street was empty, save for the hoard of walkers shambling up the road towards him.

"Shit," He cursed, before taking a deep breath. He tried to recall T-Dog's directions to the pharmacy, but all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears, and his harsh breathing. Rick spared a thought for Lori and Carl, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

Then he grabbed his knife up, kicked down the door, and burst out into the sunshine.

Rick ran for his life.

.

Carl curled up beside his mother, listening to Dale recount his tale of the day that he had bought the RV. It was a story that they had all heard a hundred times, of how he originally gone with the intention of getting a BMW, but then his eyes had fallen on the Winnebago, and then, "…wild horses couldn't have pulled me away from this baby…"

The others rolled their eyes, and looked bored, but Carl didn't mind. He liked the RV. It was cool in the heat, had a working toilet, and him and Sophia had used to play cards at the table, and giggle as they wondered how old Dale's hat was.

He hadn't gone in it since Sophia had gone missing. The night that she had disappeared, he had fallen asleep in the car, and then the next night, he had been unconscious in Hershel's house.

Carl didn't want to go into the RV, not even when he had come back from Hershel's house, because he knew that Carol would be inside. He was afraid that if he went in, she would be crying. And that he would start thinking about Sophia. He really didn't want to think about her.

Whenever he did, his heart started thudding really hard, and his head hurt, and his side started to ache. So he tried not to think about her. It was hard though, because they had used to do everything together, and now she was just gone, and Carl was starting to think that she might not come back. Because no one really talked about her, and his dad's face had gone weird when he had asked about her, and Carol was still crying in the RV all the time.

So he skirted around the RV whenever he was heading to his tent, and gave it as wide a berth as he dared. No one else had noticed, not even his mom, so he assumed that he was being pretty sneaky. Everyone else was distracted by Daryl.

He had been there, when they brought him back, standing half behind his mom, and looking around her. Daryl had looked dead. His dad had been covered in blood, and had barely been able to get down from the horse once Daryl had been lifted down. Carl had watched as Dale and Jimmy had dragged Daryl away into the house, and then his dad had been swaying on his feet, looking like he was about to faint. He had slipped his hand into his dad's blood covered one, and squeezed him tightly, even though he had been scared and confused, and his heart was doing that pounding thing again.

Then things had rushed forward into fast forward, and it felt like hardly any time had passed since his mom had been telling him to go to bed. Carl had resisted though.

He had to see Daryl.

Daryl Dixon had never been the most approachable of the group, but he was nice to Carl and Sophia. He had brought them berries from the woods when they had still been camping outside Atlanta, though he never said anything about them afterwards. Carl and Sophia had been sitting playing with Dale's pack of cards, along with the two other Hispanic girls, when Daryl had trudged out of the woods. They all shrank back as he approached them, his crossbow swinging against his back.

But then he had simply dropped a small bundle in front of Carl, something wrapped up in a relatively clean piece of cloth, and given them a smile that lasted for about two seconds. Carl thought that he needed to practice his smiling. When they had opened the package to reveal a couple dozen luscious looking berries, they had burst out into an excited chatter, all of them smiling widely and dividing up the berries as fast as they could.

Carl had glanced over to Daryl after the berries had been devoured, his mouth stained red and purple, to find that the man was already looking over at them from the log where he was sharpening his arrows. He thought that he might have seen the redneck smiling slightly as well, but Daryl ducked his head the second that he had seen Carl looking at him. He hadn't been brave enough to thank Daryl outright for the fruit afterwards, and then he had forgotten.

Until he had seen Daryl the day before.

His clothes had been stained red with blood, and Carl was reminded sharply of the way his fingers had been sticky with juice after he had eaten the berries. Then he had thought that Daryl was dead, and that he was never going to get a chance to thank him for the delicious berries, and his breath caught in his throat.

But he had remembered how to breathe when Jimmy and Dale hauled Daryl off the horse, and the buzzing in his ears died down._ He wasn't dead, Daryl wasn't dead._

Carl was jolted out of his thoughts of Daryl and berries and RVs when Beth, Hershel's daughter, tapped him gently on the shoulder. "Someone told me that you had never ridden a horse before," She smiled at him, and gestured towards the stables, "So I was thinking that, if your mamma says it's okay, I could give you a lesson. If you wanted."

He leapt up, his eyes shining, "Really? Mom! Mom, can I— Please, mom, can I—?"

Beth laughed, a tinkling sound, as his mom smiled, and nodded, "Only if you're careful. And be careful of your side, nothing too extreme, okay? And be on your best behaviour for Beth. Be sure to say thank you to her as well."

He hugged her quickly, and called out a goodbye to Shane, yelling out that he was actually going to ride a _real_ horse, before running towards the stables. Beth ran after him, seeming to be energized by his enthusiasm. Then they were in the stables, and she was telling him all the horses' names, and showing him 'Betsy,' the horse that she had learned to ride on, and how to put on a saddle, and how to pet her properly, and a whole bunch of other information, that Carl absorbed like a sponge.

Half an hour later, Beth was leading him out into the field, Carl feeling teeny on the huge black horse, which his legs could barely fit around. Betsy was fat.

He thought that he might just burst with excitement, because this was the absolute coolest thing that had happened in like forever.

It was the best few hours that Carl had had since Shane had burst into their house, and bustled them into their car, the sounds of screaming filling the street. Then things had gotten scary and horrible, but it felt like none of that mattered anymore because he was on a horse, and Beth kept laughing in that girly way of hers, while she called out instructions to him, and Betsy kept stopping to eat grass, but that was okay too.

His mom and Maggie even came over to watch him, and Carl waved, and smiled, and laughed.

_Sophia would have loved this._

.

Glenn woke up suddenly, his arms flailing out dramatically, as someone tapped him gently on the shoulder.

Then he realised that he was slumped over on Daryl's bed, the top of his head just brushing Daryl's right side, and one arm draped over the top of his chest. Glenn back-pedaled quickly, afraid that he had hurt the other man in some way, and ended up tipping his chair over.

He hit the ground hard, falling awkwardly so that he practically landed on his head, with one arm caught behind his head, and a leg still tangled in the chair, "Wha…"

The deep chuckle that came from Hershel as he observed him on the ground, was contagious, and put a smile on even Glenn's face. Maggie hauled him to his feet, with more strength than he had anticipated from her, a smile splitting her face, "You've been asleep for two hours already," She said, one arm slipping around his back, as he rubbed his face, and tried not to feel as exhausted as he did, "My dad disconnected the blood transfusion ages ago, but I thought that you needed the sleep."

Glenn mumbled something incoherent, and blinked sluggishly, before managing to get a proper sentence out, "I, uh, thanks. For that. Letting me sleep, I mean. I—how's Daryl?" His mind was workin slowly, and his head felt foggy, the after effects of waking catching up on him. _Wow, I really must have been tired._

"He's still pretty much the same. Showing some signs of waking, but hopefully Rick and the others will return in time for that."

He nodded, yawning, and stretched out, "They're not back yet? Did I miss anything else?"

"The town that they were headed to is almost an hour long journey, so they should be back fairly soon. No need to worry yet," Maggie said, while Hershel strapped a blood pressure cuff around Daryl's upper arm, "And Beth gave Carl a horse riding lesson this morning, so he's pretty pleased with himself at the moment. I wish that we had a camera, to capture the look on his face."

Glenn grinned, happy that Carl had done something fun. It seemed like he was growing up quickly, maturing at a rate that no child should have to, so it put a smile on his face to know that Carl had a good morning. "That's cool, sounds fun… Maybe you could give me a lesson some time. Because, as odd as it sounds, living the life of a pizza delivery guy on the minimum wage in Atlanta didn't leave me much time to pursue my recreational equestrian activities."

She laughed at this, seeing the humour in his eyes, and beamed at him, "Why of course I can, you wannabe cowboy." Then, she leaned in closer, and whispered in his ear, "I'll have to charge you for the lessons though."

Eyes widening, Glenn coughed slightly, and looked over at Hershel. He didn't even glance up at Glenn, only saying in what sounded like a resigned voice, "You should got get something to eat, Glenn. And then maybe see if there's anything that you could be doing in the camp of yours."

"Uh, yes sir. Thank you, Hershel."

Glenn hurried out of the room then, feeling the weight of Hershel's unspoken disapproval heavy on his shoulders. Maggie ran out after him, and surprised him with a deep kiss in the hallway, pressing Glenn up against the wall with a giggle.

"Maggie! Back in here, please," Hershel called out, and she pulled herself away. Glenn's eyes were wide with shock and anxiety, but she just shushes him with a finger to her lips.

Then she gives him one last peck on the cheek, before calling out, "Coming, daddy!" He stays frozen for a moment, even after Maggie had slipped through the door, before he lets out the breath that he had been holding, and starts making his way towards their came.

He looks out towards the road that leads out of the farm, hoping the see the silver car that Rick, Andrea, and T-Dog had left in coming speeding back, but there's no sign of anything. _Please let them come back quickly and safely._

_Please._

.

He was sprinting.

Rick ran faster than he ever had in his whole life, but he was starting to think that it might not be fast enough.

The snarls and moans of the walkers had rang out the second that he had burst out of the doctor's office, and the slow shuffling had turned into fast paced running, that he was terrified would outpace him. His feet pounded the pavement, as he gasped for breath, his eyes watering from the slight breeze, and the speed at which he was running.

_Shane was always the faster runner._

The thought split through his mind, and he let out a groan. It was true, and that was what scared him. What if he wasn't fast enough?

But he _had_ to warn T-Dog and Andrea. He _had_ to get the supplies back for Daryl. He _had_ to see Lori and Carl again. He had to survive the end of the world, because they had all fought so hard, for so long, and surely their group deserved to be spared of any more deaths.

Rick gripped the oxygen tank tightly under one of his arms, but he could feel it slipping slowly, its weight and awkward shape affecting his speed. But Daryl needed it. But what if it slowed him down enough that the walkers over took him?

He rounded the corner of the first street, and glanced around desperately for the pharmacy. It was the next street over.

Hoisting the oxygen tank up higher in his arms, Rick made his decision. He had to get the oxygen back. It was vital, and even if Daryl didn't need all of it, someone else might. So he would just have to suck it up, and run harder than he ever had before.

Rick let out a stream of breathless curses when he spotted the first walker in his peripheral vision. It was the shell of a young man, one that looked like he had excelled at track and field in college, dressed in a suit that was torn to tatters, and stained in dry blood. The walker had the advantage of having both its feet, and not seeming to have any disfigurements of its legs, so it was able to lope along quickly, moaning and snapping its jaws at him.

He tried to veer away from it, but his slight change of direction didn't seem to make any difference. Another walker was catching up on him as well, and he could hear more still getting closer.

But he made a sharp turn onto the street that the pharmacy was on, and fixated his eyes on the shiny silver car that was parked right in the middle road, at the end of the street. Andrea and T-Dog were nowhere to be seen though. They were still inside.

Rick tried to call out, to attract their attention from inside the shop, but all that came out was a dry whimper, that he could barely hear himself. When no one appeared at the door, he dropped the knife that he had been clutching in his other hand, and pulled out his handgun from his hip holster.

His fingers were shaking and he could barely hold the gun, he was sweating so much. For an awful moment, Rick feared that he was going to drop the weapon, his hand fumbled so much when he tried to grip the gun tightly. He got control over it though, and shot the track-and-field walker right through the side of his head when he made a lunge for him. Then he killed another one, a woman with the whole bottom half of her face ripped savagely away, who was dressed in what looked like a wedding dress.

All he could do was run, and pray that the others heard the shots, and would come running out.

For a few seconds, nothing happened, and all Rick could hear was the sound of his breathing that had turned from pants to wheezes, and the animal like noises from the herd of un-dead behind him. _He was going to die out here._

But then Andrea appeared from inside the shop, letting out a bloodcurdling scream when she took in the scene. She lunged for the car, wrenching open the door, and firing up the engine as she locked eyes with Rick, even from twenty metres away.

Just as he saw T-Dog throwing himself into the car, along with three bags filled to the point of bursting, he felt something yank him back, and his breath let out in a gasp. Cold hands scrabbled at the back of his neck, and he reacted in an instant, pointing the gun over his shoulder, and shooting multiple rounds out in a panic.

Then the force pulling him back was gone, and he was left reeling for a split second, before he remembered to keep running.

The car was barrelling towards him, Andrea still screaming and looking like a crazed woman behind the wheel, while T-Dog had flung open the door in the back. Rick just tried his hardest to keep going, even though his feet had long gone past the feeling of numbness, and he wasn't even sure if he was still breathing.

Andrea wheeled the car around behind him, almost hitting Rick as she made the turn that close, and knocking down a good few walkers. T-Dog was leaning half out of the car, and he grabbed Rick tightly under his arms, and simply just pulled him into the vehicle, Rick's feet grazing along the road for a few seconds while T-Dog put all his strength into hauling Rick into the car. He realised after a few seconds of being in the car, that Andrea was still screaming, as she put the car into reverse quickly, and tried to back out at full speed from the crowd of walkers that had converged around them.

A walker grabbed Rick by the foot, and he let out a silent yell, his voice gone, before smashing the oxygen tank into the walker's face. It caved in around the heavy object and the force that was put into the blow, and the corpse crumpled, swallowed up by the herd that was snarling for blood.

Then the car finally screeched into motion, and they were putting distance between them and the walkers, still reversing at an insane speed down the wide street.

Rick felt T-Dog grasp his shoulder as Andrea took a turn, and took the opportunity to turn the car back facing front again. He collapsed against the body that was holding him tightly to prevent him from falling out of the car, as the door was still wide open, and tried to remember how to breathe again.

He had done it.

He had survived the herd, and so had T-Dog and Andrea, and he was going to see his wife and son again, and Daryl wasn't going to die, and he was _alive_.

.

Daryl was in the middle of a lake.

For some reason, the water was scarlet, and didn't taste like water when Merle had ducked him under. His brother was sitting proudly in a rowing boat, sneering down at him, and laughing when Daryl tried to pull himself into the boat, "Yer fuckin' pathetic!" Merle yelled, as he shoved his head back under the water, "I should jus' fuckin' drown ya now, and save Officer Friendly the trouble! Ya useless, fuckin' redneck—Ya pitiful piece 'a shit!"

He gasped for air, feeling his lungs start to constrict like the time Merle had almost drowned him in the pond near their house when they were kids. His brother had claimed that he had just been trying to teach Daryl how to stay underwater without crying like a girl, but he had left it too long, and Daryl had ended up with pneumonia for the next month.

Then Sophia, was there, calling to him from the shoreline. Her blue rainbow shirt looked like it was dripping with blackness, some sort of oozing liquid that he had never seen before, but Daryl only focused on her words, "Over here, Mr. Daryl! Swim over here!"

So he did. Daryl did what he assumed must have looked like some sort of doggy-paddle over to her, while Merle bellowed and laughed at him, putting out cigarettes on his arms every few seconds.

In some part of his mind, Daryl recognised that the pain from the burns had started to slowly appear, and that it was different to the kind of numb feeling that he had experienced when he'd been surrounded by screaming and trees, and Merle. This pain felt sharp, and like burning, exactly how it had felt when Merle had used to join their father in burning him all those years ago. It felt real, and painful, and Merle just kept doing it.

But Daryl ignored the feeling, because Sophia was still calling to him, and he was nearly at the shore. But then he saw a figure looming up behind the little girl, one that was tall and ominous, and staggering with every step. Then the figure stepped out of the shadows, and Daryl saw his brother, a leering smile on his face.

"I'm gon' get her, little brother. But don't worry, I'll make a man outta her, teach her to toughen up."

This was the Merle that he feared. This Merle was drunk and high, and had nothing to lose. He was the one who would come staggering though the door, reeking of alcohol, and bringing the resigned realisation that it was going to be a bad night. It was going to be a bad night with more beers, and football games, and no one to protect him from his father's wrath. It was the Merle who would curse Daryl for hours while he tried to 'toughen him up,' before Daryl eventually managed to either slip out of their grasps, or pass out.

"No!" He screamed, and tried to paddle faster, nearing the shore faster, "No, Merle, don't!"

_Please, Merle, please don't do this. I'll be good, I swear, I'll be tough! I'll be the best brother ever, and you and dad won't even have to yell at me anymore. Just please don't—ow, Merle, ahhh, please stop! No, dad, I promise! I promise!_

But it was too late, and Sophia was screaming at the top of her lungs as _that_ Merle dragged her away. He was only a few strokes away from the shore, spitting out blood red water that wasn't really water as he tried frantically to reach them in time.

He burst out of the water, seeing Sophia disappearing into the distance, and his whole body erupted in pain.

Daryl gasped for air, as the world around him dissolved into agony, and he found himself staring up at the white ceiling, the that he thought he recognised, surrounded by voices, and hands. He flung his head from side to side, not even seeing anything but blurry shapes, but desperately seeking out something.

"_No, Merle_… Sophia!"

.

_So I hope that was okay… I'll have the next chapter up in the next few days :) Would love to hear from you guys regarding this chapter, as your comments really help me to write the next chapter!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	9. Chapter 9

_Hey guys :) Thanks so much for all the reviews, they all put a huge smile on my face, and I loved them! You guys are amazing. Here's the next chapter anyway, so I hope you all enjoy it…_

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Rick lay in the backseat of the car, tangled up in T-Dog and the mess of bags on the floor, and gasped for breath.

His chest felt like it was on fire, and he was panting loudly, his throat burning for water and lungs begging for oxygen. His feet were just barely out the door, the wind rushing past them, but he could only focus on trying to get his breath back.

The car felt like it was moving at a fast pace, from the way that his feet were dangling out the door, and Rick would have wheezed out a laugh if he had any breath left. He was amused by his own worry, for a split second, before everything came flooding back. It was the end of the world. Why the hell did it matter if they went as fast as the car could go? All the roads were deserted anyway, and it wasn't like he was going to give Andrea a ticket for speeding.

After a few minutes, T-Dog started to manoeuvre him into a more comfortable position, with his chest leaning up against the seat, and pulled his feet clumsily into the car. Rick wanted to help, didn't want T-Dog to have to handle him like a rag doll, but his whole body was exhausted.

He could breathe better when he was in a sitting position, and Rick let his eyes slip closed for a moment as he tried to draw in deep breaths, a task that was becoming easier, and let T-Dog sort out the bundle of bags on the floor.

The oxygen tank was resting beside his foot, and the weight of it made Rick feel secure and smile slightly.

_He had survived. He had done it, and now things were going to be fine_.

Finally, when he felt like he might be able to talk again without killing himself, Rick opened his eyes, "Man, you guys have no idea how glad I was to see you both. I don't think that I can thank you both enough for coming for me," His words were sincere, his voice painful and hoarse, and earned him a serious nod from T-Dog.

"Of course we would have come for you, Rick," Andrea told him, twisting around to smile at him, "I'm just so relieved that you're okay."

"You and me both," He barked out a laugh, looking out the window to see how close they were to the farm. A frown appeared on his face, when Rick realised with a start that he didn't recognise any of the scenery, "I think that we might have taken a wrong turn… This isn't the way back to the farm!"

T-Dog's face split into a grin as he reached into a bag and pulled out a water bottle, "Walkers might have followed us out of town. Can't run the risk of leading them back to farm," He held out the bottle to Rick, who thankfully gulped down a few swallows of the slightly lukewarm water, "Gonna take the scenic way back to the farm, not take any chances."

"Good plan," His voice was still rough and his legs ached like they never had before, but Rick felt almost back to just the bone tired weariness that had plagued him before he had left the farm that morning.

A laugh came from the front of the car, and Andrea smirked back at them, "Don't let him fool you into thinking that it was his plan! I'm the brains behind this whole idea." Her laugh was sweet, like a woman's should be, like Rick had always thought that Amy's would be, and seemed to strip away the tough exterior that Andrea had been trying to build up around herself.

"Yeah, well where are you going to be without my map reading skills, girl?"

The banter between the two was refreshing, and something that Rick hadn't witnessed properly since he'd joined the group. He let himself sink back against the leather interior of the car, and sip at the water carefully, so as not to spill a drop during the bumpy journey. Andrea sure did know how to speed on these country roads.

They would be back at the farm soon. Surely the slightly extended journey time would affect nothing.

Everything was going to be fine.

.

Daryl strained against the hands that were pressing down lightly but firmly on his shoulders. The fire that had been kindled in his torso started to burn, with an intensity that threatened to match that of the pounding in his head. There was something on his face, was sending cold air up into his nose, and though he tried to resist breathing it in for a few seconds, he had to grudgingly admit that whatever it was, it made things a hell of a lot easier.

_Merle, he had to find Merle._

But even as he muttered his brother's name, he could hear someone telling him clearly that Merle wasn't there, did he remember? And yeah, he remembered well enough. Remembered how he'd come back from a hunt to find out that they all deemed it acceptable to just _leave_ his brother there, because of some stupid cop who hadn't even known Merle. So yeah, he remembered.

The realisation that his brother was still gone hit him like a ton of bricks though, and the pain shot up another couple of levels.

A groan slipped out of him, and he tried to squeeze his eyes shut.

Before even he could think it, someone was telling someone else to turn the lights down, and then he realised that it was the brightness that was hurting his eyes. When he attempted to open them again, the room was dim, and not painful, and all he could think was _fuckin' thanks._

It was when one of the people let out a small chuckle, and said, "You're welcome," that he realised that he must have spoken out loud. He seemed to be all kinds of messed up recently though, so it didn't surprise him that he couldn't even control his own fucking mouth. Daryl squeezed his dry and cracked lips together tightly, and promised himself that he wouldn't say anything stupid again. These people didn't need ta be listening to his bullshit, and he didn't really intent on listening to their's.

But he still found himself turning his head to the side when he heard a familiar voice speaking to him, and had to wait until he could identify the blurry shape as Glenn before he started to listen, "… sorry, man. I'm so sorry, but Rick isn't back yet like he should be, and Hershel can't give you any more painkillers, and we don't really know what to do, and I know that you don't like being lied to, so that's why I figure that I should tell it to you straight, but just don't worry cause it's gonna be fine, and—"

Daryl managed to regain control over himself under the siege of words that he couldn't really understand, but he nodded slowly anyway.

"M'fine… chinaman. Don't be worryin' yer stupid head 'bout me." He ground out the words, biting down on his lip until his eyes swam, but satisfied that he wasn't screaming yet. The pressure on his shoulders eased up slightly, before disappearing altogether, and he glanced over to see Maggie backing away from him. She looked cautious and worried, and full of pity, and he _hated_ that.

Then Hershel appeared in his vision, where his daughter had been, and leaned over him, "Daryl? Can you hear me? Are you in a lot of pain?" He spoke loudly, the volume drilling into his mind, articulating every word, which just made Daryl more annoyed. He wasn't fucking stupid, as much as the rest of the group would beg to differ.

"Said I was fuckin' fine, didn't I?" Even though he wasn't fine, not by a long shot, "Keep yer voice down, ol' man, or yer gonna wake the dead," Daryl let out a wheezed laugh when he heard himself saying the words, and could almost sense Glenn cracking a smile beside him. "Need ya ta help me sit up."

The other man frowned deeply upon hearing Daryl's request, and he shook his head carefully, "I don't think that's a good idea, Daryl. You're dehydrated, have severe blood loss, major injuries, and have only just regained consciousness. You're too weak at the moment, and I don't want to rush into anything that may hinder your recovery in the slightest. Maybe—"

Daryl scowled at him, his teeth pressing into his gums in an attempt to control the pain that was coming in waves that almost knocked him out again each time, "Either you help me sit up, or I'm outta here. Ya can't keep me here, and I ain't gonna be starin' at this damn ceiling for hours either," _I'm too fuckin' vulnerable like this, I can only see one person at a time, and that's not good not good not good. Need to sit up, need to be ready, gotta be ready, _"So fuckin' help me ta sit up!"

His voice didn't come out threatening so much as pathetic, but he could see Hershel rolling his eyes, and knew that he had won. As long as they kept thinking that he was an ass, he could use it to his advantage. Ain't like he actually liked any of them anyway. Nope.

"Maggie, could you get ready to put some pillows up against the backboard of the bed? And Glenn, I'm going to need you too. Patricia, you hold his leg steady, and keep it elevated," At the feeling of soft hands touching his leg softly, Daryl flinched visibly, and tried to raise his head up to see Patricia_. Didn't know anyone else was in the room, so fucking stupid, hold it together, who else is in here, need to get out, need to get out, needtogetoutnow now now_.

Glenn made him flinch again when he put his hand on his shoulder gently, "It's okay, Daryl, it's okay. This is gonna hurt a lot though, so if you don't want us to do it, just say it now, and we won't."

He cursed himself silently for being such 'a fucking pussy' (_no please, Merle, don't, please, I won't do it again_), and shook his head, "Jus' do it already, goddamnit it."

Daryl must have missed the part where Hershel gave everyone a task though, because it seemed like everyone knew exactly what was going on except him when the old man counted down from three. He found himself suddenly being seized under the armpits, another grip latching onto his leg that fuckin' _hurt_ all of a sudden, and then they were moving him, and he was _screaming_, and during all of it, Glenn couldn't seem to stop apologizing.

The world whited out on him for a moment, several moments probably, if he was being honest, and there was nothing but white hot agony. When he came back to his senses, he shut his mouth abruptly, stopping the high, keening noise that was sounding out in the room.

All eyes were on him as he looked around, feeling his panic rates drop slightly now that he could view the entire room without straining himself. "Fuck," He panted out, giving Glenn a slight wink as he looked at the pale faced man, "Anyone gotta a bottle a' Southern Comfort lying around?"

He smirked at Hershel, to indicate that he was only joking. It would be take too much effort to attempt to persuade them all, though a good drink would be just what he needed. Below painkillers, anyway.

"Th' fuck is Rick gon' get back?" Daryl grunted, letting out a muted groan as he shifted slightly on the pillows that he was propped up against. Bits and pieces floated back to him, and he recalled Glenn having said that Rick should have been back already.

His face darkened when he saw Glenn avert his eyes, and look unsure, "Well, uh, we don't know. He should have been back about an hour ago, but we haven't heard anything back from him yet…. But I'm sure that he won't be too much longer, and that you'll get some painkillers soon, so, um, just hang in there."

"S'not the painkillers I'm think' 'bout," Daryl muttered, though he longed for something to take the edge off the pain that was just lapping at him, tearing him slowly down bit by bit with every minute that passed, "It's the wife and kid that Grimes left behind ta go get stuff fer me." He paused for a moment, and let that feeling of guilt twist into him once more, like a knife. He relished it though. It was his fault, and he deserved to feel every bit of pain that it inflicted on him, "Ya gotta go get him, chinaman."

Glenn's shoulders slumped, but Hershel answered before he could, "He can't. Glenn has been giving you blood transfusions to keep you alive, and he's too weak, not to mention that you're going to need more blood in an hour or so. There's nothing that we can do, Daryl."

The guilt started to gnaw through his defences, and his heart began to pound, his breathing coming out in slight pants. Daryl normally wouldn't have been so concerned, but Rick had gone for him, and it was all his fault, and everything was beginning to throb with more of a passion, and he slammed his head back into the pillow with a groan.

_He had to get out, had to get out, get out get out get out. Everything just hurt so much, and he had to get out. Not safe not safe not safe._

He snapped his head up though, eyes wild and full of pain, when he heard the sound of a car pull up outside the open window.

.

He leapt out of the car, as fast as his weary legs could carry him. Lori and Carl were sprinting towards him, having heard the car pulling up he assumed, and he pulled them both into a tight hug when they got close enough.

Lori was holding him tighter than he had ever remembered her doing, and she was whispering something in his hair, nonsensical words that he couldn't make out, but he just wrapped an arm around her, the other on snagging Carl who was latched around his torso, "It's okay, I'm back, and I'm fine. Everything was fine, and we're all good, okay? Don't worry, I'm fine, and we got the supplies, and everything is fine." He kept talking to his wife softly, until she slowly let go of him, and then he kissed her gently on the cheek, "We're fine, Lori."

They were interrupted by Patricia, who came running out of the house, "You've got to get in there right now. Daryl's having some sort of panic attack, and we need any painkillers or antibiotics that you guys managed to find."

T-Dog and Andrea looked up at that, having already been unloading the car, their faces turning sober and grim in an instant. "Rick, you take that bag and the oxygen, and then I think that's all of it," Andrea told him, nodding towards a bag on the ground, that he quickly hurried over and snatched up. Then, when he had manoeuvred the oxygen tank under his arm, his arm suddenly aching from the muscle memory of sprinting with it, they made their way over to the door.

He entered the room first, dropping the bag by the end of the bed, and shoving the oxygen tank into Hershel's open arms. The other man cringed slightly at the dried blood splattered all over the bottom of it, but Rick couldn't care less.

Daryl was sitting slightly upright, propped up on mounds of pillows, but his breaths were coming out in gasps, and his eyes were darting around nervously. Hands were unclenching and clenching in the sheets underneath him, and the cuts and scrapes on his face stood out starkly because of his paler than usual skin. He stared right at Rick for a moment, but like he wasn't really seeing him properly, and then his eyes moved to another corner of the room.

It was when he flinched slightly again, and moaned, that Rick realised what the problem might be.

"There's too many people in here," He said in as quiet of a voice that he could manage it, one that Daryl wouldn't freak out at, but that would ensure that the others could hear him, "We're crowding him, some of us need to leave."

Looking down at Daryl's face that was twisted with pain and what looked like fear, Rick knew that that was the reason. Daryl was trying to watch everyone in the room at once, because he was hurting and vulnerable, and it was panicking him that he couldn't. Patricia, Maggie, T-Dog, and Andrea understood, and all quietly exited from the room, T-Dog nodding respectfully to Daryl, even if he was breathing too heavily to notice.

"Rick, I need you to get him to calm down, before he passes out. I'm looking for the right painkiller to give him, but it would be better if he stayed conscious." Hershel was kneeling on the ground, going through all the various types of medication that they had brought with them, eyes squinting as he struggled to read the small labels on the tiny bottles. Glenn hurried over to help him try and sort through the mess of prescription drugs that were now scattered all over the floor, leaving Rick relatively alone with Daryl.

Not wanting to set Daryl off even more, Rick settled for sitting on the side of the bed, the unexpected shift in weight making Daryl flinch again, and started to talk softly, "It's okay, Daryl, it's just me. Rick. Everyone's gone, except for Hershel and Glenn, who're just over there on the floor," Daryl's gaze shot over to the two sitting on the floor, speaking amongst themselves quietly, and he glanced around the room once again, to check that it was clear, "Yeah, there's just us in here. And in a few minutes, Hershel's gonna give you those good painkillers, and things will start to look up then."

Daryl seemed to relax slowly, his exhaustion getting the better of him, "Ya shouldn't have gone inta that town fer me," He then muttered, his voice hoarse and painful sounding.

"What do you mean?"

"I said, ya shouldn't 'a risked yerself fer me. Glenn said ya were late back. Yer wife an' kid shouldn't 'a had to worry 'bout whether ya were comin' back or not."

Rick listened to the gruff words silently, and wondered how he had ever written Daryl off to be a selfish redneck before, "It's okay, Daryl. We got back alright. And we got a load of other supplies, so that if something else goes wrong, we're equipped to handle it properly. So it's all good."

"Was still fuckin' stupid," Was the reply that he got back, one that Rick could only grin slightly at.

Then Hershel came over, a syringe filled with a clear liquid that Daryl eyes suspiciously, but didn't comment on, "Okay, here is some adequate pain medication at last," He took Daryl's hand carefully, and injected the painkiller into the IV port. "Just give it a few minutes to take affect now."

He then took the IV bag that Glenn was holding carefully in his hands, and started to hook it up to Daryl, and then hanging another bag that he told them was antibiotics, using the second IV that Daryl had in his arm.

"Can you feel a difference?" The question came from Glenn, who was staring intently at Daryl to try and see some sort of relief from his pain.

For a few seconds, Daryl was silent. His face was still tense and closed off, scrunching up around the nasal cannula that Rick was impressed that he had kept on, eyes hooded. But then he let out a deep breath, his tense muscles relaxing, "Fuck," He sighed, "Those drugs fuckin' _work_." Glenn laughed loudly, looking more relieved than even Daryl, and Rick looked over to see Hershel smiling as he arranged the medications on a dresser that stood in the corner of the room.

Rick looks over to Hershel, managing to catch his eye, and gives him a grateful nod.

He gets a nod back, one that looks like it's sincere, and for a moment, Rick lets himself believe that they'll be able to stay on the farm permanently.

.

Things go downhill when Daryl glances down at himself, and sees his bare torso.

He freezes, staring at the scars crisscrossing everywhere, and bites his lip. It's obvious to everyone that he knows they've seen his scars, but no one knows how he's going to react. Hell, it doesn't look like Daryl knows how he's going to react.

Rick watches him carefully, and can almost see him thinking through the list of people who've been in and out of the room, all the while staring at faded and not so faded marks on his body that add a whole new layer to him. His hands clench in the sheets, and Daryl looks like he's about to say something, but then pauses.

Glenn realises last out of everyone, and he trails away from where he had been talking about something to do with his old job. His eyes shoot up to meet Rick's, neither of them knowing what to do.

After a few minutes, Hershel excuses himself from the room, Maggie following him from where she had been laughing at Glenn's story in the corner. She had come back in only five minutes ago after Hershel had called her, to bring Daryl a drink of water that her father had insisted that he drink all of. Daryl had refused any help, as Rick had guessed that he would, raising the glass to his lips with shaky hands, and hesitantly gulping it down slowly.

The whole room seems to be taunt with tension, and Rick realises after a few moments that he's holding his breath.

"Can someone get me a fuckin' shirt?" Daryl finally says in a low voice, his expression unreadable.

Rick hesitates. The situation needs to be dealt with properly, and it doesn't seem right to just skirt around what they all knew practically everyone had seen or knew about, "Daryl, I think that we should maybe—" He started to say.

"Jus' get me a goddamn shirt, Grimes, or I'll fuckin' get one fer myself!" He yelled, moving on the bed like he was about to gear himself up for getting out of the bed.

Glenn stood up so fast that the chair clattered to the floor behind me, "I get one! I'll just… yeah." He bolted then, running for the door as if Daryl was about to chase after him with his crossbow for not moving fast enough, and Rick could hear the front door banging behind him as he darted out of the house.

Then the room fell into silence again. "Look, Daryl, I don't know what the story is with these—"

"Yeah, cause it ain't yer fuckin' business!"

"But I really think that it would be good to talk about it, and—"

"There ain't no way I'm talking 'bout anythin'! There's nothin' to talk about."

"Because I can see that this may become an issue, and I don't want you to feel—"

Daryl interrupted him for the third time, but instead of the loud and angry tone he had been using before, this one was low and deadly, "Listen, Rick. I'm sittin' here telling ya that we are not going to have this conversation. Not now, not ever. So either you walk away, or I will."

He was deadly serious, Rick realised, and he stood up reluctantly, "I'm sorry, Daryl."

Rick left the room then, looking back just as he was leaving. Daryl is scowling on the bed, looking about as self-loathing as Rick figures that a person can get, breathing heavily as he looks down at his scars. He doesn't seem to realise that Rick is still there, as his face scrunches up with pain that he had been hiding, and he lets out a small whimper, drawing his arms up to his chest and gripping his shoulders.

It's a horribly vulnerable way to leave someone, especially someone who's hurt and alone, and Rick just decides that he can't do it. Daryl Dixon can curse him from here to Atlanta, but he can't just leave him alone in the room like this.

So he walks back to the chair he'd been sitting in, without saying a word, and picks up an ancient newspaper that's lying half under the bed, having been long forgotten.

Daryl lets him sit there, in silence, and closes his eyes against the pain.

.

_I hope you guys liked that! I'll have the next chapter up in a few days, so I'd love to hear what you all thought of this one :)_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	10. Chapter 10

_Hey everyone :) Thanks so much for the reviews for the last chapter! Sorry I didn't have time to reply to them, but I was working on getting this chapter up a bit faster than normal – I loved all of them though! My apologies to the reader who made the comment about me using 'metres' instead of 'feet' in terms of units of measurement! We use both here in Ireland, so it just kind of slipped out :) Sorry in advance if I make any more mistakes like this!_

_Hope you all enjoy this chaper…_

_._

Glenn hovered outside the room, shifting his weight from one leg to another, unsure of whether to enter the room or not.

The clean shirt that he clutched in his hands crumpled slightly under his tight grip. It was sleeveless, of course. Carol had given it to him, freshly cleaned, after he had hesitated outside Daryl's tent. She had found him just as he had lifted the tent flap, and looked inside, inquiring after what he was looking for.

"Uh, a shirt. Daryl wants one of his shirts."

She gave him a gentle smile as he stammered over the words, sadness and pain written all over her face, "I have one of his that I washed the other day. It's just drying on the clothes line if you want it," Glenn nodded gratefully, feeling a rush of thankfulness for Carol. He grinned, and thanked her, but she stopped him just as he was about to go get the shirt, "Wait—Glenn. Is he… is he okay? Does Hershel think that he's going to be okay?"

"Yeah." He replied simply, and then realised that he should probably expand on the single word, "I mean, yeah, I think he's going to be okay. Rick and the others got a lot of supplies, so he's not really in pain anymore, though he's still really weak and stuff, but…" Glenn looked up from where he had been staring at the dirt, to meet Carol's tear filled eyes, "He's Daryl. He's always alright, and I think that it's gonna take time and stuff, but I don't think that this time is the exception."

Carol had to reach up to wipe at her watery eyes before replying, and Glenn wasn't sure whether she was wiping away tears of relief for Daryl, or sadness for her missing daughter, "Thank you, Glenn."

He had been about to walk away again, when the thought suddenly hit him, "Would you— Would you, uh, like to see him. I mean, cause he's all set up in there, like no blood or anything, and I've been in with him lots, and I'm sure that he'd like it if—"

"No thank you, Glenn. I don't think that I could—I just can't right now," Carol interrupted him, her speech suddenly tense and stiff, before turning and heading back to the RV. He thought that he could see her shoulders shaking with sobs even from the distance as she closed the RV door behind her.

Glenn was confused by the whole situation, and he frowned as he unpegged the shirt, and made his way to the house. He couldn't understand why Carol was so against seeing Daryl. Maybe she was angry for him for not finding Sophia that day in the woods. That didn't seem like her though, but no one really knew what was going on in Carol's head these days. All Glenn knew was that she stayed in the RV for most of the day, and cried herself to sleep. He had often heard her when he had been taking watch.

So he found himself outside 'Daryl's room,' confused and wary, not wanting to interrupt anything. It sounded quiet inside the room, and he didn't want to risk waking Daryl if he had fallen asleep.

At the thought of intruding, Glenn was reminded of what Daryl's tent had looked like on the inside. As far as he knew, none of the group had been inside, except Daryl of course. He was a private kind of guy, and Glenn couldn't stop thinking about what it had been like.

He hadn't known what he had expected, to be honest. Maybe a sloppy tent, one that would fit the stereotypical guy living alone with no one to tell him to be tidy. That was what Glenn's own tent resembled, anyway.

But Daryl's tent had been incredibly neat, almost to the point of it being obsessive. His sleeping bag was rolled out carefully in the corner, Glenn surprised that he didn't have a bed roll, a small roll up mattress of sorts, like the rest of them. They'd got them after coming across a small survivalist shop a while back, but clearly no one had thought to bring one back for Daryl. All his clothes were folded carefully in piles, so precise that Glenn didn't think that he'd ever have a hope of replicating them. Then came the normal toiletries that everyone owned—toothbrush, the ever treasured toothpaste, soap, and the usual collection.

Beside his sleeping bag, where a small collection of personal items. They all had them, Glenn with a small picture of his family, his old mobile phone, and the last receipt he had received for a cinema ticket, and a few other trinkets. Daryl's were interesting though.

There were no photos. A set of car keys that Glenn thought he recognised from Daryl's truck that he'd had to leave behind at the CDC. What looked like an old wedding ring, that didn't look like it would fit Daryl. The ring was scratched and battered, dulled by years of wear. A knife, that Glenn realised with a sinking heart had been Merle's. Some pieces of wood that looked like they were in the process of being carved into something.

For some reason, the small items that were arranged beside Daryl's sleeping bag, hit a chord with Glenn. He'd seen bits and pieces of the other's personal things, like Sophia's Barbie or Lori's photo albums or T-Dog's favourite cd that was signed by the artist, but never all at once.

He'd never seen someone else's things displayed so simply and plainly, in a tent that resembled a military like neatness, and just screamed either loneliness or self-sufficiency, and he'd never expected to see Daryl's things like that. It was almost like looking right into Daryl's mind, and seeing a mess of things that still meant something to him, even after the world had ended.

Then Carol had yanked him out if his thoughts and back to reality.

And now he was stuck, hovering outside the room, remembering the tent, and wondering if it made him a bad person to have just realised that he had never really cared about Daryl Dixon until a few days ago.

.

He stood up slowly from the chair that he had been sitting in quietly for the past half an hour, his eyes never leaving Daryl's still body.

Rick had read the old newspaper twice already, before he had been confident enough that Daryl was asleep to make a move. Even while Rick had been reading in silence, he had seen Daryl wincing in pain whenever he moved slightly, and he hadn't properly seemed to relax for what felt like ages.

Daryl had kept scanning the room every few minutes or so, tapping his index finger against the sheets in what looked like an attempt to stay awake, even though Rick could see him getting more exhausted by the second. His guard was back up, the Daryl with the hooded and wary eyes back in place of the one who had seemed like a completely different person not an hour before. This Daryl was only slightly better at controlling his twitchiness, and scowled constantly, and kept shooting glances at Rick.

He hadn't looked up though, even when he had felt Daryl's glare burning into him. Rick knew if he acknowledged the fact that Daryl was staring at him, than Daryl would know he was watching him out of the corner of his eye.

So Rick stayed glued to the newspaper, and Daryl looked wary and tired, but didn't once ask him to leave.

When he finally drifted off to sleep, sleep that Rick couldn't tell was unconsciousness or sleep seeing as Daryl had been fighting it for so long, he waited for another ten minutes or so, just to make sure that he wasn't going to stun Daryl awake if he made any sudden movements.

Biting his lip and trying to stay as quiet as possible, Rick carefully placed the newspaper on the ground, wincing as it made a loud rustling noise. Daryl didn't stir. The chair squeaked as he pushed his sore body to his feet, and Rick swore that the sound was equivalent to a gunshot, but again, Daryl didn't stir. Rick almost felt like swearing in frustration when he crept towards the door, lightly stepping on floorboards that practically _screamed_, having never made any noise before.

But Daryl didn't stir.

Rick paused for a moment at the door, sending up a prayer of thanks that Daryl seemed to be out deep enough to not be woken up by his racket, and then opened the (creaky) door. He nearly had a heart attack when he came face to face with an unmoving Glenn, who was clutching a rumpled shirt in his hands.

"Ahh!" Glenn stumbled backwards, seeming to be deep enough in thought that he hadn't seen the door opening until he and Rick were only inches away from each other. Rick shushed him loudly, reaching out a hand to push him gently back from the door, while he pulled the door closed behind him with his other hand. "I, uh, I got the shirt," Glenn said sheepishly once the door was closed.

"Thanks, Glenn. You can bring it into him later, he's just fallen asleep. Sorry if I startled you."

Letting out a nervous laugh, Glenn shook his head, "You didn't really scare me. Well, maybe, but I was just standing outside because I— I had been getting the shirt, but then Carol was talking to me, and she seemed really, well, I don't know, but something's up with her. Maybe. I don't know. She just went really weird when I asked her if she wanted to see Daryl, and I didn't know what to do. Do you, uh, do you think that it's something to do with Sophia…?"

Rick felt a stab of guilt hit him in the gut when Glenn mentioned Sophia. He watched as the other man's face went through a variety of different emotions when the name slipped through his lips, guilt, worry, fear, helplessness, and dozens of others. Glenn wasn't the best at concealing his emotions, or maybe it was that he just didn't.

_God knows enough people hide their feelings these days_. And no one was better at it than Daryl Dixon. Maybe that's why Rick actually enjoyed speaking to Glenn. The guy was just so genuine and like a breath of fresh air in this new world.

"Okay, Glenn, thanks for letting me know. I'll go talk to her now, and then see if we can sort something out about continuing the search tomorrow," He ran a hand through his slightly sweaty hair, and let out a sigh, "Maybe you can bring him in that shirt in a while, whenever Hershel thinks that he needs to check on Daryl again. Oh, and thanks, Glenn, again, for everything that you're doing these days."

As he knew he would, Glenn blushed slightly, and got that sheepish look on his face that Rick had seen so many other times, "Okay, I'll do that. And, um, thanks, Rick. I'm just glad that he's going to be okay."

"Me too."

Then Rick had excused himself to go and talk to Carol, while Glenn had headed off to the kitchen to find Maggie. He had watched Glenn's retreating form, and smiled slightly at the memory of the look of happiness that had been on Glenn's face when he had mentioned Maggie. At least something good was going for one person in their group. His mind briefly flashed to Lori, and the way that she had been so distant from him lately.

But then he shook his head slightly, and forced himself to concentrate on something other than that way things seemed to be going with his wife. He had to go and talk to Carol, see if what Glenn suspected was true. _Focus on that._

The door banged loudly behind him in the wind, and he tried not to think of all the times that Lori had slammed the door in frustration in their house before the world had gone to hell.

.

Andrea sat in a fold up chair beside the fire pit, frowning into the charred remains of firewood that were left from the previous night. She was absentmindedly picking her way through a late lunch of vegetables and slightly burnt squirrel, but her mind was far away.

Her thoughts were all centred on Daryl Dixon.

Guilt flooded through her, the kind of guilt that one gets when an elderly relative that they hadn't given much heed to dies, or when someone realises that they've been ignoring another person for far too long.

_Why hadn't she noticed Daryl sooner? Why hadn't she ever bothered to show some kind of emotion besides indifference to him before?_ Andrea would be lying if she said that she hadn't judged him and his brother the second that she laid eyes on them, but for some reason, she had never seen a reason to look further underneath his exterior of dirt, sweat, and scowls.

She remembered the day when she had first met the Dixon brothers, when she and Amy had driven into the camp, hysterical with the prospect of other people who weren't walkers. The group had smiled at their tears of joy, and opened their arms to hug the two blonde sisters, immediately accepting them into the group without a second thought. The group had been quite big then, though the Morales family and Rick hadn't shown up yet.

Andrea could almost taste the pop tarts that Dale had produced, the first meal that she and Amy had had in days since the outbreak had reached their city. They had told their story to the others, after all the introductions had been made, while she and her sister pressed up against each other on a log, with the rest of the group around them.

When everyone had been introducing themselves, Merle had stood up, winking sleazily at her, saying, "Merle Dixon, sugar tits. That's Daryl, m'brother." She had managed to withhold her shudder, noticing the similar looks of distaste on the faces of most of the others, and nodded politely. Daryl had stayed still from where he had been hunched on the ground.

His eyes had been distrusting and unwelcoming as he stared at her, sharpening his crossbow bolts. He hadn't said a word, but his opinion of her and her sister, who had showed up in her expensive car that had been splattered with dirt, was clear.

Her gaze drifted over him within seconds, the filthy guy crouched on the ground with a brother who was eyeing her uncomfortably, and she had turned to Lori to ask if they had any fresh water to spare with an unsavoury look on her face, as if the Dixon brothers had left a bad taste in her mouth.

Andrea didn't hear Daryl say anything until a day or two after she had arrived in the camp, when Shane had started to give out to him for cursing in front of Carl and Sophia. He had stayed silent until Shane had stopped chewing him out and yelling, before saying, "Fuck you, _officer_. It's the fuckin' end of the world, ain't like there's a better time for a bit of cussin'. I'll say what I want, and in front 'a who I want, so if ya don't want the kids fuckin' hearing the word 'fuck', keep 'em outta my goddamn way!"

He'd stalked off them with his crossbow, into the woods, leaving Shane furious, and shaking his head in anger. She had frowned after him as well, thinking that he was just another arrogant ass, and wondering why people like him deserved to survive this, while all her friends were dead.

When she thought back on it though, she couldn't recall a single moment when he had cursed in front of Carl and Sophia after that.

The squirrel suddenly tasted like ashes in her mouth as she realised how horribly she had treated him for weeks, and she offered the rest of her food to T-Dog, who took it, rather confused, but grateful. Andrea excused herself to go lie down in her tent, hating herself for how she had acted.

_I'm so sorry, Daryl. God, I'm so, so sorry._

.

"Carol?" He knocked on the door to the RV softly, "Carol, can I come in?"

She called out for him to come in, so Rick pulled open the door, stepping inside the Winnebago slowly. Carol was sitting at the small table, looking at a slightly withered white flower standing up in a beer bottle. He raised his eyebrows at the sight of it, but didn't comment, seeing the way she was looking at it, with sadness in her eyes.

Rick sat down opposite her, watching as Carol wiped away tears that had run down her cheeks, "I just thought that I would stop in, see if you were holding up okay. I know things have been particularly rough for you lately, and I'm so sorry that you're going through this."

"Thank you for your concern, Rick. But you really don't know how hard it is. You would, if it was Carl who was out there, but it's not. It's my little girl, out in the woods by herself, scared out of her mind, and probably crying herself to sleep every night."

Her bluntness caught him slightly off guard, but he recovered quickly, "I'm so sorry, Carol, I really am."

Reaching out a hand to touch the white flower gently, she sniffed, and nodded, "I know you are. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I just—I just miss Sophia so much. It's not fair, for her to be out there all alone, not after everything that's already happened."

Another tear slipped down her cheeks, and Rick wondered how she was keeping it all together. "I'm going to be organising another search tomorrow, now that Daryl seems to be doing okay. We'll search more around the ridge, where he had been looking." Carol's expression was unreadable as she stared at the white flower, so Rick continued, "He's a lot better than he was, you know? Hershel thinks that he's going to be okay in time, because of the antibiotics and painkillers that we brought back. He's going to be laid up for a while though. Maybe you could go in and see him. Keep him company?"

She shook her head, "I can't, Rick. Did Glenn send you?"

"Yeah, he did. But I was worried about you too. What do you mean, you can't? He's still the same Daryl, even if he is a banged up. I thought that you two got on reasonably well together?"

"We do. But, I can't. I just can't walk into that room, and see him like… that. I can't, Rick. There's a lot of things that I have done during the past few months, but I won't do that. I can't, and I won't, so please don't try and persuade me."

Rick couldn't have been more confused. But Carol was shaking her head at him, eyes filling up with tears that she was trying to hold back. "Okay, I won't. I just want to try and understand. Is it—" He spoke carefully, deciding to try Glenn's suggestion that it might be connected to Sophia, "Is it because he didn't find Sophia? Are you… upset with him?"

Carol's head shot up, and she looked enraged, even with the tears that had slipped past her defences, "Of course not, Rick! Daryl is the only one who's been out there, all day, every day. There's no way that I could be angry with him." Her words reminded him yet again that he had been neglecting the search for the young girl lately, and he felt a sick feeling in his stomach, "No, I'm not upset with him, I just…"

"You just, what?" Rick promoted as she trailed off.

"I just can't walk into that room, and see him injured and half _dead_, all because he was looking for my daughter! He took that risk for her, and for me, and I can't go in there! Look where it got him! Daryl almost died, Rick, all because I couldn't keep an eye on my own daughter."

He sat frozen for a moment, stunned, "Carol, I—"

"There's no way that you could understand, Rick, and I don't want you to pretend to. So please, just leave me."

At a loss for words, Rick stood up from the table, and backed away towards the door as Carol gestured with a shaky hand for him to get out. She was sobbing again, when he closed the RV door behind him, and he had no idea what to do.

Everything seemed to just be getting more and more complicated, and it felt like he was crumbling under the pressure.

.

Maggie pulled him closer to her, and Glenn smiled slightly, despite the situation. Their chairs were practically one as they sat at the table, Beth and Jimmy playing cards across from them.

It was a wonderfully normal moment in a world that was filled with soul destroying ones, and Glenn wanted time to freeze and stay like this forever. "Go fish," Beth told her boyfriend cheekily as she looked up from her cards, clearly winning the game. The smell of dinner was wafting in from the kitchen where Patricia was cooking, and Hershel sat in the corner, doing a crossword puzzle in a newspaper that was probably months old by now.

Then he pulled out his watch, an antique one by the looks of it, and said, "Glenn, would you mind going in to check on Daryl? You could bring him in some more water and see if he can manage it, he's still a bit dehydrated."

"Yeah, no problem," Glenn jumped up, having to force himself not to lean over and kiss Maggie before he did, and stumbled into the kitchen to fill up a glass. He grabbed the balled up shirt that he had left on the table on his way back though the room, and grinned once more at Maggie, "I'll come get you if he needs anything."

The room was silent as he pushed open the door quietly, a stark contrast to the noise and atmosphere of the kitchen. Daryl moaned slightly when he stepped on a particularly squeaky floorboard, and cracked open his eyes.

"It's just me, Daryl," He said softly as he made his way over to the bed, so as not to spook him, "It's Glenn."

Daryl had fallen asleep still propped up on his pillows, so he could see the whole room easily, and he looked semi-comfortable as he scowled over at him. Glenn was glad of the fact, because it meant that they wouldn't have to move him again for a while. He had screamed with agony when they had sat him up as carefully as possible, and it had nearly killed Glenn inside.

"Th' fuck do you want?" He said hoarsely, and Glenn had to repress a smile at his gruff tone. It was typical Daryl, if not a tiny bit softer than normal. He held up the glass of water, and then the shirt questionably, "Bout time someone brought me my damn shirt." Then there was a pause, before he muttered, "Thanks."

Glenn handed him the glass of water first, and shrugged at his slightly disgusted look, "Hershel's orders. I'll give you the shirt when you finish the glass." Looking disgruntled, but not saying anything, Daryl started to drink the water, so Glenn guessed that he actually had been thirsty, and had only realised it when he began to drink, "So, you feeling any better? Are the painkillers working? Because, you look a bit better. Kinda. Well, you look better than you did yesterday."

"Still feel like shit," Daryl replied honestly, before draining the last of the water, "But I guess they're workin'"

"That's good then. So, how are you going to get this on?"

It took a few minutes, but they managed to get Daryl's shirt on, with him getting one arm though, and then Glenn kind of draping it around his shoulders, while Daryl leaned forward painfully, and tried to get his other arm through the hole.

Daryl grunted and cursed throughout the whole ordeal, and he looked quite a bit paler and sorer when it was done, but there was the ghost a smile on his face that lasted for about a second afterwards. Then it was gone.

Breathing heavily from the process, though he wasn't really sure why, Glenn plopped down in the chair, and sighed.

Then Daryl looked down at himself, at the shirt that covered his scars, and said without looking at him, "You saw them then, did ya?"

"Um, yeah. I did. But you don't have to talk to me about them. Well, if you want to, you can. But not if you don't want to. I don't mind. I'm not going to say anything to anyone, and I'm cool with just forgetting that I saw the, um, scars if you want. Really. Whatever's cool with you."

For a moment, he didn't say anything, just stared down at the material of the shirt.

But then Daryl Dixon started to speak, and Glenn listened, and he saw a whole new side of Daryl Dixon, one that both shocked him, and kind of scared him.

.

_There goes another chapter! I hope you all liked this :) I will try and have the next one up in the next few days, as I'm trying to get this finished before school starts! Would love to hear any feedback you guys have on this chapter, as it really helps me to write._

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	11. Chapter 11

_Hey guys :) So, yeah, this chapter is a little later than usual, but I just kinda had a block with this. Hopefully this chapter isn't too bad, and I'll make the next one better, I swear! _

_Thanks so much for all the reviews from the last chapter – I loved them all :)_

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"Not all of 'em were on purpose," Daryl spoke slowly about his scars, as if he wasn't really sure if he should be saying anything, "I spent a lot 'a time out in the woods when I was a kid. Didn't know how ta watch out fer myself. I fell out of a tree once, when I was seven. Broke my arm, and scratched myself ta hell when I had ta trek back home."

He paused then, and Glenn said softly, "It's okay, Daryl. You don't have to tell me anything." Glenn purposefully left out the part where he was sure that seven year olds shouldn't be traipsing around the woods alone like that.

"Some were my own fault. I got in the way of plenty 'a beer bottles that were bein' thrown out. Not all of 'em were on purpose. My Pa… he'd get real drunk, you know? And then I'd be there, bein' an annoying little shit, an' sometimes he just got angry. But he didn't know what he was doin'. Most times it wasn't his fault, it was mine, fer jus' bein' in the wrong place at the wrong time. Got on the wrong end of a gun once, when he was havin' target practice, an' I was in the way. Shot me in the leg, when I was nine. He didn't mean it though. An' when he did mean it, when we were kids, Merle would protect me. He'd yell at my Pa till he turned back to the game on our crappy little TV or whatever, an' then fix me up. It used ta be a good system."

"And then what happened?"

Daryl bit his lip, staring into his hands that were curled up into weak fists in his lap, "Then he got older, an' some guys started ta offer him drugs. The regular stuff, coke and meth, but it changed him. Merle got tougher, and told me I had ta be tougher. It was probably true, anyway. That was only when he was high though, so it wasn't really his fault. I'd jus' say th' wrong thing, and he'd get mad. Started ta try and make me inta a man. Some nights he'd be clean and sober, coupla times a week, so then it was okay. But when… when he was high, he used ta get his belt an' see how long I could last without cryin' like a girl. Pa would join in too, an' then it'd be the two of 'em. I toughened up eventually.

"It got easier when Merle started goin' to juvvie. He'd come back sober an' things would go back ta normal, until he got hold 'a more drugs. Then eventually he'd get caught again, an' it would jus' be me an' Pa. I learned ta stay outta his way quickly. Once Merle came back from juvvie, an' found me livin' in the woods. Had been fer the past two weeks. I was thirteen, an' damn near feral when he finally tracked me down."

Glenn swallowed past the lump in his throat, and struggled to find some words to say. He had to force himself not to mention the worn and old ring that he had seen in Daryl's tent, holding back all the questions that he had, "God, Daryl, I can't even imagine what you would have gone through. I'm so sorr—"

"Don't want yer pity, Glenn. This ain't a sob story or nothin'. Jus' want ya ta understand so ya won't be prying at me. Yer fuckin' annoyin' enough as it is. This is the only time I'm tellin' this, so listen up if ya really wanna know, which I know ya do… Things went on like that fer a while. Then my Pa died when I was nineteen, somethin' ta do with his liver, I think. Then it was jus' me in the house, an' Merle when he wasn't servin' time fer one thing or another. He drifted from place ta place fer years, but I stayed in that damn house. Up until the fuckin' world decided ta end." He looked up at Glenn with dark eyes, "That's why I ain't like you guys, Glenn. I ain't friendly or cuddly, or naive as shit like the rest 'a ya. So I don't want yer pity and shit, or yer empty words about how 'sorry' ya are."

He nodded carefully, "Okay, I won't give you any of those things. You're still the same old Daryl to me, anyway. Though you're looking a bit cleaner these days, if I'm being honest."

Daryl barked out a painful sounding laugh, and then said, "Ya able ta keep this ta yerself, chinaman?"

"Of course, Daryl. I swear, I won't repeat any of this. Like one hundred per cent, there is no chance of any of this getting past my lips. Like, not even if—" Glenn stopped himself in his rambling when he saw the other man roll his eyes, "I swear, man."

Glenn realised with a start that Daryl had never mentioned his mother. He wondered what had happened to her? Surely if his mother had been around, she wouldn't have let Daryl's father abuse, because that was what it was, _abuse_, her children. But Daryl had lost that haunted look that had been on his face while he had been talking, and Glenn didn't have the guts to ask the question that was now burning away at him.

"Good. Now, do ya wanna tell me what the fuck's wrong with me? All I know is that it fuckin' hurts when I move, and all the time besides that."

Realising how disconcerting that may be, Glenn cursed himself for not remembering that no one had brought Daryl up to speed on his injuries since he had regained consciousness, "Oh! Oh my god, sorry, I completely forgot. Um, well, when we found you, you had one of your own arrows though your side, a massive head wound, a messed up ankle, and there was blood everywhere. Like, everywhere. You probably remember cause you were, uh, covered in it."

"Fuck! Where the hell is my crossbow?" Daryl tried to sit up straighter, letting out a grunt of pain as he looked around frantically for his weapon.

Glenn held up his hands, terrified that Daryl was going to kill himself from overexertion because no one had brought his crossbow into the room, "I got it! I got it!" Daryl turned his worried eyes towards him, looking strangely like a kid who'd had their toy snatched away, "I brought it back from the ridge, where we found you, because, well, obviously you couldn't carry it back. It's just outside, somewhere in camp, I think. I'll get it for you later, if you want?"

He nodded his thanks, before saying, "Don't want none 'a those idiots messin' with it. They'd probably fuckin' break the damn thing tryin' ta look cool in front of each other."

Eyes averted suddenly to the floor, Glenn tried to silently deny all the times that he had wanted to pick up Daryl's crossbow, and shoot something with it. The weapon just looked so… _fun_… and Daryl made it look easy. "Uh, yeah. Cause that would be stupid."

The silence lasted for about a minute, before Daryl finally said, "I'm only going ta warn ya once, Glenn. Don't be fuckin' around with my crossbow. If you break that, we're screwed. You damn people still don't recognise the need for fuckin' silent weapons yet, with all yer guns and fuckin' stupidity. Get a fuckin' knife if ya wanna start killin' walkers like you actually have a brain, but just don't mess with my crossbow. 'm fuckin' warnin' ya."

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Rick headed back towards his tent, for lack of anywhere else to go.

He felt slightly uncomfortable in the house, what with Daryl not in immediate danger of dying, Hershel clearly not wanting any of them there, and while that feeling was fading, it was still present. Then Carol had kicked him out of the RV, her sobs still within his earshot in the silence of the farm even as he walked away, and he tried to wrap his head around the situation.

She was feeling guilty because Daryl had been injured while he'd been out looking for Sophia, the kind of guilt that gnawed away at a person and wore them down. Rick knew the kind well, as it was eating away at him still, after seeing Daryl covered in blood, and all the times afterwards, but somehow, words had failed him when he had tried to talk to Carol about it.

It felt like he was falling short a lot these days.

His footsteps sounded indecisive, even to him, as Rick trudged in the direction of his tent, feeling utterly drained. A deep ache had settled into his legs after his sprint the day before, and a headache was thudding against his skull, making everything feel like it was ten times harder. Rick sighed deeply, longing for the opportunity to lay down in his tent for an hour or two, preferably with Lori curled up against him. All he needed was an hour of rest, to collect himself and his thoughts, and then he'd be able to deal with everything.

"Rick!" The sound of Dale's voice calling out to him from the top of the RV made him falter in his walk, his headache increasing just a bit. For a moment, he considered not stopping, to just keep walking, but Dale was calling out again, "Rick!"

He took a deep breath, and then turned around, to see Dale scrambling down the ladder, "What do you want, Dale?" Blunt as his question may be, Rick was in no mood to listen to the older man's ramblings that seemed to go on forever. _It had better be an emergency._

It seemed to take hours for Dale to make his way over to where Rick was standing, and he used the time to try and calm down. Rick just felt like he was at the end of his tether, and if Dale didn't have something urgent to tell him, then he wasn't sure he'd be able to curb his frustration_. Just one hour, that's all I need. No one is dying at the moment, or being attacked. Just one hour._

"I just wanted to talk to you about the security of the guns, as I feel that certain members of the group have acted rashly, and I don't feel comfortable knowing that this person has 100% access to the guns. This person had indicated to me, not verbally, that they are willing to breach the agreement that we have with Hershel, and I'm not sure that this is the best environment for the certain person to—" Rick honestly didn't have any idea who Dale was taking about, but he nodded wearily, and tried to hold on until the end of Dale's gun speech, "… So I'm suggesting that I move the weapons to a more secure location, and also that you keep tabs on that person. I have good intuition, you know."

Rick nodded, not knowing what was going on at all, "Okay, I will, Dale. Now if you'll excuse me, I just need to—"

"Also, Rick, I was wondering what kind of medications that you managed to get in the town. Because, I used to take these vitamins, back at home, that really helped my joints, and these other tablets that were filled with fibre, and my wife used to insist that I take them, and—" Rick tried his hardest not to let his exhaustion show in his face, as Dale just kept speaking, on and on and on. "… so because of that, I really think that the group would benefit from having some sort of supplement to boost iron and fibre intake, because—"

"Look, Dale, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I have no idea what kind of medications we got, you'll have to talk to Hershel about that. Right now though, I really just need to get somewhere, if that's okay?"

Dale got that slightly miffed look on his face, but it only lasted a second or two, "Okay, I've been meaning to speak with Hershel about Daryl anyhow. Let me know if there's anything that I can do to help, Rick. I had actually been thinking that we should sort through our supplies of fresh meat, because—"

"Okay, Dale, you do that. Maybe get Shane or someone to help you… I have to go, but I'll check in with you later."

Then Rick nodded to the other man, and turned around, his face falling from the leader-like mask that he had tried to keep in place. His shoulders sagged slightly, and he let out another sigh as he neared his tent. Just one hour was all he needed.

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"So, where did you get the crossbow, anyway?"

Daryl glanced up at the question, trying to ignore the way his head was aching as he narrowed his eyes at Glenn. "I stole it. Why?"

He smiled slightly to himself when he saw Glenn's eyes widen with shock, and watched silently as the other man tried to process the answer, and decide how he felt about it. Eventually, he swallowed, and said, slightly weakly, "Oh really? That's, um, cool. I guess. Where'd you steal it?"

"Swiped it off a hunter in the woods, when I was a teenager. Guy couldn't hunt fer shit anyway, so I was doin' him a favour. Taught myself ta use it, an' then huntin' got a hellva lot easier. Was cleaner, too, not havin' ta use a gun."

Glenn nodded, and Daryl decided that he had to at least give the guy some credit for listening to all his shit and not freaking out. "You went hunting a lot as a kid?"

"Had ta. My Pa didn't work, and most of the money we scrounged was spent on drink. Then Merle wasted the rest on drugs." Daryl paused for a moment, and then smiled grimly at a memory, "He called me a pussy when I brought home my crossbow. Snapped one of the arrows over his knee, jus' ta prove that he could."

"The only hunting I did when I was younger was when I tried to find a girlfriend. But—oh God, that just made me sound like some sort of sexual predator. Ew, that came out all wrong." Daryl let out a laugh that made his side tighten in pain and start to burn, but it was worth it. Glenn let him laugh, looking only slightly disgruntled while a smile tugged at his lips. "Anyway, I was just a broke pizza delivery guy living in a crappy apartment when the walkers came. I didn't know how to do any of this stuff."

He shook his head slightly, "Yer good with all this plannin' and shit. Would have been screwed a long time ago, if it hadn't been fer you and yer plans."

Glenn looked surprised at the gruff praise, and he beamed, "Well, your hunting was kept us from starving to death. And you know how to skin the animals, and what berries to eat, and how to start a fire. You're more valuable to the group than most of us."

Daryl frowned at the last statement, and his gaze slipped back down to his hands that were clenched into fists again. "That's not true, chinaman."

"Yeah, it is, Daryl. You're a part of this group, and we all need you."

His eyes closed for a moment, as Merle's voice broke through the clarity of consciousness, and screamed at him, _fuckin' useless piece of shit. Jus' die already so they don't have ta waste their time on ya! Yer even stupider than I thought, Darlena, if yer buyin' this bullshit._

Then he scowled at Glenn, seeing the confusion in his eyes, and said roughly, "Jus' get my fuckin' crossbow, an' then leave me th' fuck alone. I don't fuckin' need ya to fuckin' babysit me."

Glenn stood up awkwardly, and looked for a moment like he thought Daryl was joking with him. But when he gave him another glare, Glenn nodded slowly, "Okay, man, I'll get it now. And then I'll stop annoying you. I didn't realise that I was being such a nuisance."

Daryl was silent as Glenn walked, rather dejectedly, out of the room. And then he was alone with the pain that was morphed from a lull, into a throbbing wave in just a few seconds, and he stared out the window closest to the bed.

Something that felt like tears started to gather in his eyes, but he didn't know why. And he didn't let it go any further, wiping the back of his hand roughly across his scratched face.

_Dixons don't cry, little brother_, a memory of Merle floated into his head_, if I ever catch ya cryin', I'll beat ya like a man, and not a girl like yer bein' now._

_._

He hurried out of the room, feeling confused, and slightly hurt.

What had happened? One moment, he and Daryl had been laughing about his unfortunate choice of words, and the next, Daryl had been telling him to get lost. Glenn took his cap off for a minute, and ran a hand though his hair, once he was through the door, and it was closed behind him.

"Hey, you okay?" Maggie stuck her head out of the dining room, seeing him leaning against the wall. Glenn could only imagine what his expression looked like.

"Um, yeah. I just have something to do, and then I'll come into you, I guess." Glenn knew that he tended to babble sometimes, and that he could be irritating, but he'd never had anyone tell him that bluntly that he was annoying. And even if Daryl hadn't said it directly, it was clearly implied, and he hadn't denied it.

Without waiting for her answer, he thudded out of the house, and let the door swing shut behind him. Glenn could see Dale and a tired looking Rick conversing in the middle of camp, and he took a longer route to where he had left the crossbow, not wanting to get in a conversation with anyone. It was right where he had left it, propped up on a rock not far from Daryl's tent. Luckily, it didn't seem as if any of the group had been 'messin' around with it'.

Glenn bent down to pick it up, and found himself glancing over at Daryl's tent. He was intrigued by the snapshot into the man's head that he had seen last time he'd looked in, and while it confused the hell out of him, he tried to remember it. That, and the side of Daryl that he seen a few minutes ago, when they had been laughing together, and when Daryl had been talking to him properly, with no hostility or any of the anger that he normally displayed.

He wanted to get to know more of _that_ Daryl.

But he knew that if he looked in again, that he would be too curious, and start poking around in there, so he grabbed up the crossbow, with more care than he would admit to himself, and started marching back towards the house.

Glenn pushed the door to Daryl's room open with more force than was probably necessary, and stopped in his tracks when he actually took a good look at Daryl.

Even though he was scowling at him, Daryl still looked incredibly vulnerable. He had gotten skinner in the past few months, and it was more noticeable than with rest of the group, his ribs starting to show slightly. An oxygen cannula was still around his face, and his face was pale against the bandages wrapped around his head. Glenn even thought that Daryl looked sad, like all the fight had drained out of him in the few minutes that Glenn had been gone.

But that was gone as sudden as it appeared, as Daryl sneered at him, "Took you fuckin' long enough."

He nodded, his head ducked down, and moved forward to place the crossbow on one of the chair where Daryl would be able to reach it easily. He noticed the dried blood smeared on it, and found himself wishing that he had washed it off at least, "Yeah, sorry."

Glenn realised that he wasn't even angry with Daryl as he looked into his face. This was simply Daryl with his defences up, defences that Glenn had previously thought were his whole personality. He now knew that to be wrong, and couldn't even find it in him to be mad.

"I'll be back in a while, if you need anything then."

"I don't fuckin' need you!" Daryl yelled after him, as Glenn turned towards the door.

They both knew that the anger in his voice was false though, so Glenn only shrugged, and was only slightly surprised when he found himself smiling as he closed the door behind him.

He'd had a proper conversation with Daryl Dixon, the first one that he'd ever had, and he was probably one of few in the group who could claim to that. And next time he went into Daryl, he was going to have another one.

Glenn was determined not to let Daryl shut himself out from everyone else.

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_I hope that chapter was okay anyway. I don't think that it was my best one, but I'm going to start working on the next chapter right away :) Would love to hear what you guys thought of this! Thank you all for the alerts and favourites that this has gotten as well._

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	12. Chapter 12

_Hey guys! This chapter is later than usual because I went back to school last week, and I literally almost cried when I realised how much the workload had increased from last year. I am going to be so stressed and busy this year that it's actually scary! So, this is a bit delayed because I was freaking out over study, and have had almost no free time in the past few days. I've also fallen behind in stories that I usually review, so apologies if I didn't get a chance to review something that I usually do!_

_Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews from the last chapter though, I appreciate them so much, and loved them all :) You guys are the best! I hope you all like this chapter now…!_

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Rick woke up slowly, blinking open his eyes as he sighed deeply.

The bright afternoon light filtered in through the slightly open tent flap, and he rubbed at his eyes for a moment as he rolled over onto his back. Looking around, he could see Carl quietly reading one of his last remained two comic books for the hundredth time, curled up on his sleeping bag.

It was a comforting sight, one that he had seen plenty of times back when the dead hadn't been walking, when he could come home in the evening and find his son tucked neatly into one of their armchairs with a new comic. Rick felt a shudder of coldness run through him, when he remembered those days back at the beginning, and the uncertainty of not knowing if he would ever be able to see his son totally immersed in a comic, or even alive, ever again.

Carl lifted up a hand to swat away Rick, when he ruffled his hair on his way out, but didn't make a sound, too absorbed in the crumpled and worn pages. Rick had no doubt that he had long since memorized the comic, but it seemed to be some sort of comfort to his son, so he always made sure that the comics were packed away tightly when they were on the move.

Outside, the others were all just sitting around the fire pit, or pottering away at different tasks.

His wife was hanging up washing, on the makeshift washing line that she had erected proudly on their second day of being at the farm. T-Dog was leaning against a tree, sharpening his knife with a piece of flint, carefully, like the way Daryl had demonstrated to him only a week or two earlier.

Rick made his way over to Shane, who was sitting on a log with his face turned towards the sun, and his eyes closed, "Anything happen while I was in my tent?"

The man who he had once considered his best friend without a doubt, looked over at him, the expression in his face unreadable, "Nothing, man. Dale came over a while ago, yammering on about something or other, but hell if I know what he was saying. He eventually went to pester Hershel about something, but that's about it."

"And Daryl?"

Shane shrugged, "I haven't seen him since that first day. I'm sure Hershel would get us if something actually went down."

Trying not to frown at Shane's tone of voice, Rick said carefully, "I was thinking that he could organise a rota or something, so that Daryl would have someone with him most of the time. It might be a distraction from the pain and boredom, if he had someone to talk to. And I wanted to speak to you about continuing the search tomorrow."

"Seriously, man, the search?" Shane sat up straighter, and looked at Rick disbelievingly, "Rick, this is getting out of hand. That girl, much as I hate to say it, is probably dead by now. We're just wasting time and manpower trawling through the woods for her. Hell, Daryl almost died the other day. We're already low on fresh meat, seeing as he can't hunt at the moment. We can't afford to lose any more people to this, and I know that people are going to feel bad, but we have to move on from this"

To hear Shane so blatantly tell him that he was wrong, made Rick wonder who his friend had turned into. Surely his work buddy wouldn't have just said that, a year ago. He wondered just how much the end of the world had changed Shane, and how much of it was really there all along.

"I… I don't think that I can do that. It's my fault that she never made it back to camp. I owe it to Carol, and to Daryl who gave up so much to find her, to keep looking. If you don't want to keep up the search, that that's up to you."

Shane shook his head incredulously, "It's not your fault, Rick! The kid went off the trail, and got herself lost. That's tragic, and I'm not happy about it, but we have to move on. C'mon, man, you have to let this one go. How are we supposed to protect the group, if half of us are off on a wild goose chase? I won't do it. Someone needs to focus on what matters right now, and if that means that I have to stay here, and keep _your_ family safe, then so be it!"

Somehow, during the discussion that had become more and more heated, Shane had rose to his feet, to tower over Rick, and he found himself standing as well.

"Don't you tell me that I'm not keeping my family safe! I'm trying to save a little girl, Shane, a little helpless girl who could be still out there! You're trying to imply that I don't care about my family, that I can't keep Lori and Carl safe, and that's not true. They are my family, Shane, and I know how to protect them!"

"Do you?" Shane shot back at him, "Because I'm the one that got them out! I went straight to them, when everything started to happen. I left my goddamn aunt and cousins in the city, because I was trying to save your family. I went to them first, because I knew how much they meant to you. I had to make a _choice_, Rick! And now you have to. A dead little girl, or your own family? Huh?"

Rick's vision seemed to blur red for a moment, and he found his hand reaching out to shove Shane back, "How _dare_ you? How dare you say that to my face? What kind of man are you?"

"The kind who knows how to protect what he loves!" Their voices had risen, and Shane was now yelling at him, pushing Rick back sharply, "Make the choice, Rick! Make it!"

Then Lori came running over, screaming, "Stop it! Stop it, both of you!" She squeezed herself in between them, and put a hand on each of their chests, pushing them apart with as much strength as she could muster, "I don't know what you're fighting about, but this has to stop! Take a walk, both of you, and cool down."

He realised then that most of the rest of the group ha paused in their tasks, and were staring over at them. Luckily, Rick didn't think that they had been arguing loud enough for the others to hear, and thankfully, it seemed like Carl was still in the tent.

Shane scoffed at him, before reaching down to pick up his handgun that was lying in the dirt, and stalking off in the other direction. The gun should have been securely packed away with the rest of the weapons, in the RV, and Rick frowned after him. They were supposed to be respecting Hershel's terms for them to stay on the farm, not blatantly ignoring them like Shane seemed to be. Looking up, Rick could see that Andrea was perched on top of the RV, a rifle in her hands, keeping watch.

"I don't know what that was about, Rick, and I don't think that I want to," Lori's calm but firm words brought him back to his senses, "But I think that you need to take a moment, and get it together. Is everything okay?"

Rick shook his head slightly, "I don't know… I mean," He sighed deeply, and ran a hand over his face in thought, "Things will be okay. I just need Shane to understand how I see things. I just—You know that I'd never let anything hurt you and Carl, right?"

"I trust you, Rick," She replied straight away, "And so do the others in the group. I will back you, whatever your decisions are."

Somehow though, the words didn't do anything to make him feel better. Rick could only nod, and walk away, towards the house. All he could do was focus on taking one step at a time, and try not to let all the doubts that had been building up overcome him.

_What if Shane was right?_

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Daryl bit his lip, feeling the drugs starting to wear off more quickly than they had taken effect.

He lifted his right hand up to his throbbing head, and gingerly felt the gauze wrapped around his head. It was stiff and tight, and an unfamiliar feeling to him. Every other time Daryl had gotten hit in the head, no matter how bad it was, he'd never had someone wrap bandages around it. It felt… good.

When he looked around the room though, all he could feel was confusion. He assumed that he was in the guest room, not that he had ever seen any of the other rooms in Hershel's house, but even then, he wondered why they had let him inside.

He was just a dirty redneck, he knew that, and it was painfully obvious that he didn't fit in at all with this room. The walls were painted a thick cream, polished wooden floors perfectly maintained, and even the sheets underneath him felt like they cost over a hundred dollars. There was a warm looking blanket folded up on at the end of the bed, and the duvet cover was tucked away in the corner. Daryl could see a pile of bloody rags tossed in the corner, and he recognised them as the shirt he had been wearing the day before.

All that remained of his clothes that he had gone out in were his trousers, and they too were stained with blood, and had been hastily cut off at the knees. The shirt that he had on was a stark contrast to them though, clean and fresh, and soft on his bruised skin.

Daryl wondered who was washed it. Surely it couldn't have been Lori, she hated him. Though she had never said it out loud, he had seen her shooting him looks of disgust when she thought that he wasn't looking, and she had never one said anything to him directly, often unconsciously pulling Carl closer to her whenever Daryl was nearby.

And it definitely hadn't been Andrea. For all the bitching she did about how she hated having dirty clothes, she downright refused to do any task that could be considered even vaguely feminine anymore. It was slightly ironic how much she had changed, seeing as she had been the one who had driven into their old camp in Atlanta with three pairs of stilettos in the backseat, and about five suitcases filled with makeup and clothes that wouldn't last two seconds in this kind of world anymore.

Maybe it had been Carol then. Daryl remembered her offering to do some of his washing back in the Atlanta camp, when everything had seemed semi-permanent and safe for a while. She had already been carrying a basketful of clothes from her own family, and some of Glenn and Shane's washing as well.

He had looked at her for a moment; kindness etched in every part of her face, and shook his head. Then Carol had smiled and insisted that it was the least that she could do, and that it really wasn't any trouble, to which he had replied, "I said no, woman. If a man can't do his own fuckin' laundry at the end of th' fuckin' world, then somethin' ain't right." She had simply nodded, and turned to go, Ed beeping the horn loudly from the car he was going to drive the women down to the water with, but he had spotted a spark in her eyes that hadn't been there before.

It had to have been Carol.

Daryl was interrupted by the sound of someone knocking softly on the door, and he lifted his head up painfully, "Who th' fuck is it?"

"Just me," Rick opened the door a crack, and stuck his head inside, "Can I come in? Hershel wants to give you more painkillers, and another dose of antibiotics as well, I think. Oh, and Glenn is here to give more blood as well."

He rolled his eyes, "Fine, let's have a fuckin' party then. Not like I can fuckin' stop ya from comin' in anyway." He was glad of the company though, even if he would never admit it out loud. The room had been starting to press in around him, and Daryl hadn't known how much longer he could have stuck it out.

It surprised him, when the flash of annoyance that he normally felt when he was around members of the group didn't appear as Rick and Glenn made their way into the room. Maybe he was starting to learn to tolerate them_. Learn to tolerate their fuckin' stupidity, and the fact that they didn't know shit about anythin'._ Glenn beamed at him as he came closer, and Daryl scowled back, though even he could feel that he was losing his malice. _Fuckin' idiot._

His annoyed feeling returned the second that Hershel came in, and it took every ounce of willpower that Daryl had in him not to resist when Hershel took his arm to fiddle with the IV in the crook of his elbow.

Daryl watched in silence as Glenn offered his arm up to Hershel, who quickly inserted an IV, and the blood started to flow into him. He frowned slightly, surely that couldn't be good for Glenn, "How much longer are gon' havta do this? With th' blood, I mean." Then he added, more as an afterthought, "'m sure th' chinaman needs his own blood."

"Not too much longer I don't think," Hershel said, turning slightly to get his penlight off the top of the dresser, "This may be the last one that you'll need, but we'll just have to wait and see. Now, can you follow the light with your eyes for me?"

"Couse I fuckin' can," Daryl grumbled, despite the piercing headache that ratcheted up a few levels as he tried to concentrate on the bright light. He didn't say anything about it though, knowing that he was capable of dealing with a headache. If he had tried to find someone to run to every time he'd felt like this during his life, then he would have long run out of people.

It was just that the people in this group had never felt true suffering, that they were making such a fuss over him.

Then Hershel went to fill up a syringe, and Daryl frowned when he saw the volume of liquid in it, "Don't need that much, old man."

The others all turned to look at him, while Hershel paused, confused, "This is just a painkiller, Daryl. You must be in a tremendous amount of pain, seeing as the other one would have worn off by now. Our supply has been tripled, and more, so we have plenty to spare, if that's what you're worried about."

"Don't want that much. Makes me foggy. I need ta be alert," When he saw everyone else still looking baffled, Daryl rolled his eyes, "This is still th' end 'a th' world, people. Can't afford ta be relaxin' and shit, while there's still walkers out there."

"You're putting your body under too much pressure, Daryl. You need to be able to relax, and let yourself heal properly, otherwise you could make the recovery time even longer. I think that you need the full dose."

Rick chimed in, "We have things under control, Daryl. Andrea's on watch, and we're safe for the moment. Take the drugs, you look like you need them." If anything, his sincere expression only made Daryl even more stubborn.

_Fuckin' idiots, tryin' ta tell him what he did and didn't need_. "I said that I didn't want 'em. I don't like how they make me feel."

That in itself was a lie. He loved how the strong painkillers flooded through his system, and made everything so much easier. They took the pain away, and replaced it with a sense of safety and peace. But this was the end of the world, and there weren't no time for peace, and Daryl didn't intend on fooling himself like the rest of the group seemed to be doing.

"Okay, okay, fine," Hershel moved towards him, and held his hands up in a truce, "But just let me give you some, either way."

Daryl nodded warily, and watched as Hershel carefully started to inject the painkiller into the IV in his hand. When he was about halfway through with the syringe, Rick said suddenly, "Hey, Daryl," and distracted him for long enough for Hershel to quickly press the plunger, and inject the remainder of painkiller into him.

He turned his head back sharply, but it was already done, and gave Hershel the most menacing glare that he could manage, "What th' fuck, old man! I fuckin' told ya that…" He trailed off against his will as he felt the drug start to work almost instantly, and felt his body almost melt back against the pillows. "Fuck… you…"

But he honestly just couldn't summon up the energy to be even the slightest bit irritated as all the pain and worry flowed out of him. It was, quite simply, the best feeling in the world.

Just as his eyes slipped closed, he heard Rick say something softly.

"You're safe with us, Daryl. We've got it covered."

.

Rick watched as Daryl's body went limp, and he smiled slightly at the sight of the man getting some well needed rest.

No matter how stressed and uncertain that he was in his decisions of late, he felt some relief sink into him from Daryl. Once he had relaxed fully, it was evident how in pain Daryl had been before, though it hadn't been that noticeable when Rick had originally entered the room.

He shook his head slightly, partly in disbelief of how good Daryl was at keeping things locked away, and putting on a completely different face for others. He looked up to see Glenn grinning as well, though his smile faded away as he met Rick's eyes.

"Uh, Rick? Can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course, Glenn. What's bothering you?"

Glenn seemed to fidget for a moment or two, until finally looking down at the ground, "I know that Daryl was getting annoyed when you were asking him about his, um, scars." Rick opened his mouth to say something, but Glenn hurriedly kept speaking, "And I know that you want him to talk about it, and all that, so he, um, he talked to me about it. I'm not gonna tell you what he said, cause it's not mine to tell, but just, um, know that's it's okay. I mean, he's tough. This isn't going to push him over the edge."

He considered the words, and glanced over at Daryl, whose scars were hidden under the clean flannel of his shirt. "Okay, Glenn. Thank you. I won't be at him to talk to me then, if that's how you see it. And I'm glad that Daryl felt that he was able to talk to you."

"Me too," Glenn admitted, and smiled. "We had a good talk, well, until…" He raised his eyebrows, and Glenn shrugged, "Until I told him that the group needed him. Then he just got all pissed, and started to call me a liar."

Rick's heart sank. It had only been a matter of time since this would have come up. He tried to choose his words carefully, "I think, that the group as a whole, needs to become more aware of how important Daryl is to all of us. We wouldn't have made it all the way to here if he hadn't been with us, and I think that's a fact that all of us have neglected to properly acknowledge."

"He's not his brother."

The words that Glenn said quietly couldn't have been more true, and it was something that Rick knew that they all had chosen to ignore. It had just been easier to see Daryl as some ignorant redneck who didn't know better.

"You're right. Daryl is not his brother."

.

Glenn sat with Daryl after Rick had left.

The other man had been called out of the house by his wife, to find Shane who had apparently stormed off and never came back. Even though it had only been an hour or so since anyone had seen Shane, a person disappearing was a wound that was fresh in all of their minds.

No one wanted to repeat what had happened to Daryl. They all knew that it was their negligence for Daryl, and the fact that none of them had even noticed he was gone, that had let the situation spiral out of control. If it had been anyone else, they would have found them quicker.

So Glenn just sat in the chair, even after Hershel had come in to disconnect the blood transfusion, and let his eyes close. He was always slightly more tired and his muscles harder to move after giving blood, so this was the perfect time to catch a small nap. No one would barge in if they knew that Daryl was sleeping, and that made for a good time to drift off for Glenn.

He was only dozing for a few minutes though, before Daryl woke up.

"Why are ya still here, Glenn?" Daryl asked, sounding genuinely confused, as he looked over to see Glenn yawning and rubbing at his eyes, "Ya should go back ta yer own fuckin' tent if ya wanna sleep. That chair don't look comfortable."

Glenn shrugged, "Nah, I'm good here. I'm just chilling. I can go though, if you want me to."

Daryl scoffed, and rolled his eyes, "Whatever. Ain't my house, so I don't have the right ta kick ya out."

"Didn't stop you before. Anyway, this is kind of your room, for now anyway, so by all means, tell me to get lost. I will." When he looked closely at him, Glenn could see that Daryl was still feeling the effects of the drugs. His eyes were ever so slightly glazed over, and he didn't seem to be scowling, like he almost always was.

"Do whatever ya want, chinaman. Ya ain't botherin' me yet anyway."

His response was as natural as taking a breath, "I'm Korean." Daryl let out a hoarse chuckle at that, and Glenn had to laugh as well, "I actually have something to as you though…"

The other man looked up, his eyes slightly narrowed, and Glenn found himself suddenly doubting if he had the balls to ask Daryl the question he wanted to, "What is it, _Glenn_?" He smiled slightly at the over pronunciation of his own name.

"I, uh, well, when I was getting your crossbow, I ,um, kinda looked inside your tent for a minute, and saw—well, I only glanced in, and noticed that you had a, uh, weddingringbesideyoursleepin gbag." The words came all out in a rush, and Glenn felt his face turn red, not having any idea how Daryl was going to react to it. He just _had_ to know though, "I mean, uh, a wedding ring. There was one in your tent, and I was wondering, uh, who it belonged to?"

.

_So… I hope that chapter was okay for you all! Just in case someone calls me on this, I know at one point I used the word 'trousers' and I think that Americans would usually say 'pants' there, but I just wouldn't bring myself to type that—in Ireland, pants would be the same thing as, like, underwear, and it was just too weird for me :) Sorry if that bothers anyone!_

_Anyway, would love to hear your guys' thoughts on this chapter, and to know if you liked it or not :) I will try my hardest to get the next one up quickly, as usual feedback helps a lot, but bear with me if it takes a little longer than usual again!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading, _

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx _


	13. Chapter 13

_Late update again, guys, I really am so sorry! Thanks so much for all your reviews, I loved them all so much :) Haha, and thanks to _Black Blood, _who seems to understand my frustration with the Irish school system! I've been buried under a pile of homework and study for like the whole week…_

_Hope you guys enjoy this anyway!_

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It takes a moment for Daryl to process what Glenn's just said, so for a split second, Glenn can see that he's just frozen in shock, and a whirlwind of emotions flash across his face before he can get a hold of himself. Then his eyes narrow, and he tenses up.

The drugs that Hershel had given him are clearly slowing him down, and making him slightly sluggish, which Glenn thinks is the real reason why Daryl hasn't leaned over and strangled him yet.

He spends a few beats wondering why the hell he ever let that confession and question slip out, and cursing himself, because he had been so close to establishing something real with Daryl, and now he's just gone and ruined it all. Unable to keep looking at the evolving expression of anger, and something that Glenn can't quite make out, he drops his eyes to the floor, and tries to pretend that he's not trembling. Daryl was going to hate him now, and that'd be the end of—

"Ya've got balls, Glenn. I havta give ya that... But what the fuck were ya doin' in my tent? There's a reason I set it up fuckin' away from ya all."

Glenn let a glimmer of hope shine through, "You… You're not mad with me? You don't want to, um, kill me?"

The laugh that the other man lets out sounds painful and hoarse, but he does it anyway, "I am fuckin' mad, chinaman. But I'd rather it was you who'd seen my shit, over the rest 'a those fuckin' idiots. Least you have the balls to come ask me 'bout it. The rest 'a 'em would probably just gossip 'emselves ta death 'bout it."

The sense of relief that floods through him, because he hasn't screwed everything up for possibly the first time in his life, gives him a surge of confidence, "So? Are you, um, going to tell me about the ring?"

Daryl's face scrunches up into a look of hatred and pain, but Glenn keeps his eyes locked on him, trying out this crazy new theory that just slammed into his mind.

Maybe the way to get past Daryl's defences is through excruciating perseverance. Not by abuse or softness, but by genuine and blunt questions and answers. By stripping away all the fakeness, and just talking to him like Glenn really was— a twenty-something year old who was struggling through the end of the world. ***

"It was my mother's," Daryl spits the word out like it was acid, and once again, Glenn's whole perception of him changes. He raises his eyebrows at the look of anger and pure betrayal that's written all over Daryl's face. "Bitch couldn't handle my Pa when he was drunk. Ditched me and Merle when I was five. Left nothing at all, 'cept tha' ring on the kitchen table, and a lollipop each fer me an' my brother."

Abandoned. Daryl was abandoned. Glenn simply nodded, and asked, "So why did you keep it?"

The other man shrugs, seeming not to feel that pain from his injuries any more, only the agony from his past, "Dunno. My Pa kept it too, 'round his neck fer years. I think the drinkin' got worse after she left. I took it, after he died, and put it away somewhere. Grabbed it jus' before I left when everythin' went ta shit. Was a stupid fuckin' thing ta do though."

"Not really," Glenn says quietly, watching Daryl as he studies his scarred hands, "You miss her. I miss my mom, too. And my dad, and brother and younger sister. They were living just outside the city, but the place was still overrun by the time I got there."

"They walkers?" Comes the gruff question, and even after all these weeks and everything they've seen, Glenn feels pain shoot through his heart.

"Um, yeah. I couldn't… I couldn't do it though. They were just wandering in the garden when I pulled up, and then they started coming at me, and—I couldn't do it. I just drove away. The one thing that—I'd want someone to do it for me, you know? But— it was just—I couldn't do it."

He dropped his head into his hands, feeling more emotional than he had in weeks. And with Daryl fucking Dixon, of all people. But then he started speaking, and Glenn felt a sense of regret that he hadn't attempted to converse properly before, "It ain't yer fault, Glenn. They were yer family, and I'm betting that ya weren't such a tough fucker back then. Besides, four is a hard number ta try an' take down, so s'probably better that ya didn't try."

Glenn shrugged, and tried to subtly scrub away the tears that he can feel gathering in his eyes, "Do you remember her, your mom?"

Again, Daryl seems shocked by the bluntness of the question, but he recovers fast, "I dunno. There were never any photos or nothin', an' my Pa gave me a fuckin' concussion the one time I asked him…." Glenn stayed silent, and after another few minutes, the other man continued, "Merle hated her. He was old enough to remember her properly, I guess, but I don't remember him bein' sad, jus' angry. He used ta— ta tell me about how much she hated us both, an' that she left cause she was a bitch." He let out a cynical sounding laugh, "Guess he was right. I mean, not bein' able to stand my Pa is somethin', but her own kids? Either she was that messed up, or we were already."

"Daryl, I'm sorry, man. I really am."

"Don't want yer pity, Glenn, I told ya that already," Daryl repeated what he had said the last time that Glenn had tried to express his sympathy, "Jus' fillin' the time with stories I guess. Ain't like none of it matters anymore. World gone and went to shit anyway."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, and he could see Daryl clenching and unclenching his hands, hovering them just over the sheet that was smeared slightly with dirt and blood. It looked like he was wary to properly touch the material, even though he had been lying on top of the sheet for hours. There was an air of carefulness about Daryl that he was only just starting to see, as if his every move was planned and processed before he made it.

_Abuse and abandonment_, Glenn's mind screamed at him. That's why Daryl was so… damaged.

But the thing was, that he wasn't even sure if Daryl could see how broken he was. While he was telling Glenn about how his father had physically abused him for years, and Merle sometimes as well, he had constantly defended them, saying that he was the one in the way, or that it was his fault.

Even though Daryl seemed to be so good at reading people, and exceptionally talented in pushing them away, he seemed unable to see how much he had been wronged in life, by almost everyone. Glenn shook his head slightly, wondering how he had ever written Daryl off to be just a redneck asshole.

"Do you, um, do you want anything else from your tent? Like, something that I can bring into you?"

Daryl considered the question carefully, "Ain't like I'm plannin' on stayin' in the room fer much longer, but I'd feel a fuckin' lot better if I had my knife. S'under my pillow in my tent, if ya don't mind gettin' it I suppose."

"But you're hurt, Daryl, really hurt. I don't think that Hershel wants you to be moving around for a bit longer, let alone sleeping in a tent on the hard ground." He left out the part about Daryl sleeping with a knife under his pillow, despite the constant person on watch day and night.

The other man only scowled at his argument, "'m takin' up enough space as it is, a whole fuckin' room, Glenn. An' it's my tent, so it's my decision. Now, you gonna get me my knife or not?"

"I just don't think that you understand—"

"Fer fuck's sake, I'll get it myself!"

With that, Daryl rolled his eyes in frustration, and, boosted by an adrenaline rush, sat up straighter and swung both his legs over the side of the bed. He only winced marginally when he lifted his heavily bandaged ankle from where it had been elevated, and Glenn took a split second to raise his eyebrows at the apparent strength of the painkillers.

"Daryl, no! What are you doing—_stop_!"

But Daryl was facing away from him now, and took no heed of Glenn's shouts as he stubbornly planted his feet on the ground, and stood up shakily. He swayed for a few seconds, and the lurched forward in a step, Glenn already out of his chair and running around the bed.

"Daryl, please stop, please just get back into bed, I'll get your knife, just, shit, you're going to hurt yourself, Daryl, please, I don't know what to do—" His words came out in a rush, as Glenn skidded to a half in front of Daryl and threw his hands out, ready to catch him, but not wanting to touch him for fear of hurting him even more.

Ignoring him, Daryl only scowled even more, and took another step, almost falling as his injured foot was unable to support his weight. "Jus' gon' get m'knife…" He wheezed, getting paler and more unsteady by the second.

Glenn was on the verge of a panic attack as he turned his head towards the door and screamed, "Help! Someone, please, get in here—Maggie! Hershel! Rick!" Then he looked back at Daryl, who had a determined and slightly glazed over look in his eyes, and sweat streaming down his face. Clearly he was not nearly well or healed enough to be up and walking around, but he didn't seem to realise it himself. His breaths were coming out in pants, as he forced himself to take yet another unstable step.

Then the door banged open, and Hershel burst into the room, taking one look at the scene in front of him, and yelling for Beth to go and get Rick. Glenn could hear the front door banging behind her as she burst out of the house at a sprint.

"What an earth is going on here?"

Glenn could only let out a squeak of worry and confusion as his hands glided around Daryl without touching him in case he fell. "I don't know! He just got up, and I don't know what to do—He's about to collapse or something!"

It didn't even seem as if Daryl could hear them anymore, as he fought to stay upright despite how out of it he looked.

Then, just as Shane ran into the room, gun at the ready for no reason that Glenn could think up, Daryl tried to take another step, but fell forward, slamming into Glenn, and letting out a moan that was filled with agony. "What the fuck?" Glenn could hear Shane shout as he hit the ground, unprepared for Daryl's dead weight, and then the sound of a gun hitting the floor as both Shane and Hershel rushed forward to try and break their fall.

They were too late though, and Glenn ended up in a heap on the floor, with a now unconscious Daryl slumped on top of him. Daryl smelled like dirt and blood, but also like the woods and antiseptic and all Glenn could do was not to scream as he realised that he couldn't feel Daryl's heavy breathing.

Within seconds, Shane and Hershel were lifting Daryl up by the armpits, and trying to get him back on the bed, while Glenn remained crumpled on the ground, squeezing his eyes shut, and trying to convince himself that everything would be okay. This was all his fault. If he had just gotten Daryl's goddamn knife like he had asked, and not tried to make an issue of the thing, then things would have been okay.

_Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay._

.

Shane leaned over the side of the bed, looking down at Daryl fucking Dixon, the one person in the group that he had no desire to ever be around, and watched Hershel leaned his head down, checking to see if he was breathing.

It dawned on him suddenly then, that maybe he would care if Daryl ended up killing himself by mistake.

The guy was the only one who provided the camp with fresh meat after all, and despite having a complete asshole for a brother, he wasn't afraid to do what needed to be done. They were on the same page, when it came to a zero tolerance for anything that might endanger the group.

"He's breathing," Hershel suddenly says, and then he started tilting Daryl's head back like the guy is a fucking doll, and ripping open his shirt to check his wound. Shane thinks absentmindedly while he's staring down at the guy, that Daryl's gonna be pissed that the guy ruined another one of his shirts, not even bothering to unbutton instead of just ripping through the material.

But then he sees the blood staining through what was once white gauze, and how it's starting to run down Daryl's side like a trickle, and he recoils slightly. _Holy shit_. Whatever he had been expecting to see, it certainly hadn't been that. But instead of staring in shock like Shane is, Hershel's face just gets grim, and he tears off the gauze to reveal a mess of popped stitches, angry red marks, and more blood. It's probably one of the most painful wounds that Shane's ever seen first-hand.

"Holy shit, man," He says out loud, because if there's one thing that is, it's infected. Even Shane can figure that out.

"I was afraid of this happening," Hershel frowns, in response to Shane's curse, "There must have been splinters from the arrow that I wasn't able to locate the first time, which have now gotten infected. He'll need another surgery."

Shane raises his eyebrows, and looks up at Daryl's face, which looks like shit, slack and barely breathing, "Can he take another surgery? Like, just look at him." Behind him, still on the ground, Glenn lets out a gasp, but he just ignores him.

"He'll be dead shortly if I don't try to remove the splinters," Hershel's tone is tight, like he doesn't know if he even can keep Daryl alive at this point, and then Shane doesn't know what to think. Yeah, he hated the guy, but he's not sure if he wanted him dead. And at least not like this, dying from some infection that he got while trying to find a lost little girl that Shane himself had already given up on.

"Rick came to get me, when I walked off," Shane says slowly, because he feels out of place, and this is clearly Rick's kind of thing, "He said for me to go back to camp, but that he was going to keep walking for a while," Rick would know what to do. Rick always knew what to do in these kind of situations, "I don't—Rick isn't here."

Hershel seemed to pause for a minute, and then barked an order out for Glenn to get Patricia, sending him running out of the room, "Okay, Shane, we don't have time to wait for Rick to get back. I have to do this surgery right here, right now, before the infection gets any worse, and it's too late for me to do anything. I need you to be here to hold him down if he starts to struggle, do you understand? I haven't got time to look through all medications the others brought back, and this has to happen right away."

The words registered in his mind, but Shane didn't start to understand the meaning of them until Hershel moved away to grab a scalpel and some other equipment, and sprayed antiseptic onto his hands.

"Wait, wait, wait," Shane begged Hershel, but the other man didn't reply as he bent down to straighten Daryl's legs out properly on the bed from where they were twisted awkwardly, "I don't—wait, what if he dies?"

But then Patricia was in the room, already wiping Daryl's bloody side down with an orangey liquid, and moving aside for Hershel to start plucking out the stitches like they were pieces of grass in a field. Shane's half-hearted protests went unheard, in the midst of the emergency that was happening right in front of his eyes.

Then Hershel was reopening the large wound, and Patricia was shining a light into the gaping hole in Daryl's side, and Shane was left standing there, not knowing what the hell was going on.

.

Daryl woke up twice during the surgery.

Shane knew because each time he had to brace his arms over Daryl's shoulders, and physically hold him down. Daryl screamed each time, his pupils looking like they were completely blown, and begged them in broken sentences that were filled with curses and screams, to stop.

Each time, Shane had stared into his face, and held him down, eyes wide as Daryl tried to buck him off with almost no strength, before his eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell unconscious again.

The first time, Hershel had looked up, and said, "He pulled his IV out when he stood up, and that painkiller that I gave him has most likely worn off." The second time, Hershel hadn't said anything, hadn't even looked up to meet Shane's desperate expression.

By the time they were finished, Shane was almost positive that he was going to throw up, and he had no idea how Daryl was still breathing. There was a small dish full of tiny bloody splinters beside him, and a long tube down Daryl's throat.

Hershel had been forced to intubate him after the second time Daryl had woken up, afraid that he would stop breathing from the trauma of it all. Hell, Shane had almost stopped breathing several times. Patricia manned the ambu bag attached to the tube, squeezing methodically while Shane tried to punctuate his breathing, and thought over and over about how he wasn't meant for this kind of thing, and how near death that Daryl must be.

He kept his eyes averted from the open portion of Daryl's torso, only knowing that it was over when Hershel called out that he was finished.

Then Shane had sunk into one of the chairs, and focused on breathing heavily while Hershel and Patricia bustled around. He kept his eyes firmly closed, not wanting to see anything like he had just witnessed before. He snapped them open though, when he felt a hand clap down on his shoulder heavily.

"I've done everything that I can for him. But I just don't know how things will pan out," Hershel spoke carefully, and then added, "You'll sit with him, won't you? I need to change out of these clothes."

Shane found himself nodding, even though he really didn't want to stay alone with an unconscious Daryl, though he supposed that it was the least he could do for a guy who'd nearly died. And besides, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to get up any time soon, his legs feeling weak and jelly-like.

When they were alone, Shane forced himself to look at Daryl, and winced at the oxygen mask that covered half of his pale face. At least he was still breathing though.

Then his mouth opened, and Shane started to do the one thing that he though he never would.

"Uh, hey, Daryl. I hope you're going to be okay, man, because honestly, you scared the shit out of me. I'm, uh, pretty sure that Glenn had already pissed himself by the time I came in here." He rubbed a hand over the stubble that remained of his hair, and sighed, "You think what I'm doing is right, don't you? I mean, maybe not about the Sophia thing, but… keeping the group safe is what matters. Above anything else, I _need_ to keep them safe."

Maybe it was the sheer exhaustion and shock that he was in, but Shane continued to speak to Daryl, not even know why he was even still in the room at all, all his doubts pouring out of him without warning, "Rick needs to understand that. He's _not_ making the right decisions. You and me… we're able to make the tough calls. We know what needs to be done to protect these people. But Rick… he just can't. And I can't bear to be the one who has to bury Lori or Carl because of that. I just can't."

.

_Haha, that chapter kind of got away from me—as in I wasn't planning the second half at all, and it somehow ended up getting written! I hope it was okay anyway though, and I'll try and have the next one up as quick as I can :) Would love to hear what you guys thought of this in the meantime though!_

_Oh, and I've just posted a new Walking Dead fic, Feels Like Home, if anyone is interested in it :)_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	14. Chapter 14

_Hey guys :) A horribly long wait for this chapter, I know, and I'm so sorry! Thanks so much for all the review though, I really, really appreciated every one of them._

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Daryl woke up quickly, jolting awake with a gasp.

A hand pressed down on his heaving chest, and he swung his head around blindly, unable to see anything clearly at first. Then sound came back, "…fine. Calm down, man, everything's fine. Just take it easy, and breathe for God's sake."

_Shane_, his brain supplied, even as he was frowning and doubting himself. _That was Shane_. He squinted up at him, while the hand was hastily removed from where Shane had been pushing him back down on the bed, and took a ragged breath.

"What—the fuck?" He stammered out, because really, what was he supposed to say when waking up to Shane Wash at his, Daryl's Dixon's, bedside. Daryl was completely disoriented.

The other man only grimaced slightly, "You don't remember?" Daryl raised his eyebrows at this, not knowing what was going on at all. Hadn't he just been speaking to Glenn? Shane hesitated for a moment, before saying, "You passed out. Like, you got out of bed all feverish, man, knocked yourself out cold from doing too much, and then Hershel operated on you. He took out all those infected splinter things, and whatever. I held you down when you woke up."

Daryl let his mouth hang open for a minute, caught completely off guard by the bombshell that had just been dropped on him.

He looked down frantically at himself, realising only then that he was almost flat on his back, and shirtless again. There was a large patch of gauze over his side, bigger than the one that had been there before, and it hurt a hell of a lot more than before.

But on the plus side, it was more of a throbbing pain rather than the sharp and stabbing one that had been there before, and his head didn't feel quite so fuzzy anymore. Daryl lifted his hand without the IV in it to scratch at his head, avoiding the bandage that covered most of his temple, "Yer not bullshitting me?"

"What? No, man, serious. Do you actually not remember anything?" Shane whistled lowly as Daryl shook his head, both men incredulous, "You are one lucky fucker not to remember. I had to hold you down, while you were screaming your head off, and— _Fuck_."

To be honest, Daryl wasn't that surprised that he didn't remember the incident. If he had really been that out of it, then it was unlikely that he'd remember when he was lucid. And it had happened before. He'd woken up flat on his back in their house sometimes, when he'd been a kid, with blood and bruises everywhere, but no memory. On those occasions, it had been Merle, coming in at two in the afternoon the day after an all-night bender, who told him that he'd gotten beaten or smacked around the previous night.

So Daryl just shrugged, and heaved himself up into a somewhat reclining position while he bit his lip against the pain, and tried to wrap his head around the fact that Hershel had just operated on him for the_ second fucking time_.

Damn, he owed that old man.

Shane watched him, expression wary and slightly sympathetic, as if he wasn't really sure what he was supposed to be doing. Daryl smirked slightly to himself at that, knowing the feeling, and feeling slightly satisfied in the fact that Shane was fucking uncomfortable.

"I, uh, I'm gonna go. Just wanted to make sure you weren't dead or anything. So, uh, yeah, man."

Then he stood up hastily, and hurried over to the door, not looking back once. Daryl listened for a moment, and thought that he heard Shane going into the kitchen, until a few moments later, the front door to the house slammed shut.

Daryl took a minute then, taking comfort the fact that he was all alone, and let himself feel the pain. His ankle was worse than it had been before, probably from him walking on it or some shit, he rationalized, but apart from the increased pain in his side nothing seemed to have changed. Well, his head felt clearer, which he was glad about, but all in all, he still felt like shit.

He shrugged to himself, and yawned slightly. At least he was alive though, he guessed.

Ain't no one could kill him, but him. Except, Merle maybe.

.

Rick walked back into camp slowly, having stayed out walking in the woods for an hour or two.

He felt refreshed, and ready to deal with any problems that had gone down since he had been gone. He was ready to deal with Shane, and skirt around Lori for a while longer until he figured out how to make things right with her again.

But Rick was definitely not prepared for his son to run to him at a sprint, and throw his arms around him. Nor was he prepared to look around, and see worried and pinched faces looking back at him.

"What happened?" He asked breathlessly, spinning around with Carl still clinging to him, "What's going on, what happened?" Rick starts to look around and count the people he can see, terrified that they've lost someone else, and it will have been all his fault.

Then Shane stalks away from the farmhouse, towards him, and he catches sight of Lori, and the tight feeling returns, and Rick suddenly comes to the conclusion that he's not ready for whatever news Shane is about to tell him. He just wants to go back ten minutes, to when he was walking through the forest, and surrounded by peacefulness.

"It's Daryl," Shane says grimly when he gets close enough, and Rick can almost feel the colour draining out of his face, "His wound got infected, so Hershel had to go back in, get out the splinters. Went in without anaesthesia, cause there weren't no time. He's fine now, though. Woke up a few minutes ago. Seems better."

Rick feels Carl pull away from him as he started walking forward, and he ruffles his son's hair in what he hopes is a comforting gesture as he strides towards Shane, "How did it get infected? What did Hershel say? Is he lucid?"

Shane merely looks at him hard for a moment, before running a hand over his head, and saying, "I think he'll be fine. Doesn't even remember the whole thing. Go in and see for yourself if you're so worried, man, but he seems fine," Then Shane went to walk past him, but paused for a moment, his mouth close enough to Rick's ear for him to speak quietly and no one else to hear, "Enjoy your walk?"

A stab of guilt hits Rick then, and he steps away from Shane, face tight, knowing that his friend had said the words purposefully to make him feel even worse about not being there for Daryl. Though, when Rick took a second to think about how Shane had that information, he frowned. If he hadn't been there, surely someone must have been with Daryl. And the fact that Shane was the one who had all the details and information, was starting to help Rick put everything into place.

But he just couldn't imagine Shane sitting at Daryl's bedside, and not killing the guy.

Shane had never tried to hide the fact that he disliked anyone with a Dixon after their first name, and Rick's conclusion to the current situation was turning out to be more and more out of character for him.

So, with one last confused glance at the retreating back of his former best friend, Rick gave Lori a quick kiss, and told her that he'd be back in a few minutes. She nodded at him, absently pulling away after only a second or two into the kiss, and Rick tried to pretend that he didn't mind.

But he did. He walked towards the house at a fast pace, trying not to think about the fact that his marriage may be failing, right in the middle of the apocalypse.

.

Hershel met him in the hallway, literally only a few seconds after Rick had walked through the door.

He looked worn out, drained, and like he was glad to see Rick there. He wasted no time in getting straight to the point, "What happened?"

"He overexerted himself, something about getting a knife," Hershel explained calmly, while Rick resisted the urge to start pacing right in front of him, "Then I discovered that the wound was critically infected, and was forced to operate immediately to remove the splinters of wood that I must have missed last time. Shane assisted, and—"

Rick snapped his head up, "_What_?"

"I know. There was no time to wait for you, or to get anyone else, and it was either him or Glenn, who was on the ground. He… actually did an okay job. Because we had no anaesthesia, it was Shane's job to, well, hold Daryl down when he woke up during the procedure. Which he did, twice," Rick's eyes were wide, and he felt at a loss as to how to process the information. This didn't sound like the Shane Walsh he knew. "I left him in with Daryl, and Maggie only just informed me moments ago that he left."

They both looked over at the closed door at the same time, before exchanging another glance, and then Rick made the first move. He knocked once on the door quickly, before yanking it open, and striding inside, unsure of what he would find.

To his complete and utter shock, Daryl was awake, looking clear eyed and pissed off as he watched Rick storm into the room. He was even sitting up slightly, though he planted his hands firmly on the mattress when he registered that they were coming in, and forced himself into a more vertical position.

Rick rolled his eyes at this, Daryl's stubbornness always seeming to reach another level.

"What's up with you, Grimes? Ya look like someone jus' kicked ya in th' nuts." Daryl said bluntly, his tone gruff and marginally annoyed.

He smiled slightly, "I'm so sorry, Daryl, that I wasn't here earlier. I should have been, and I'm so sorry that you had to go through what you did, but I'm just so relieved that you're okay. How are you feeling, after the, uh, procedure?"

Daryl shrugged. "Better I guess. I don't remember it anyway, so there ain't no point in rehashin' over what's already happened. No need ta make a fuss or anythin'."

"You have no memory of the last few hours?" Hershel stepped forward at his words, and Rick turned to see the older man looking surprised, "None at all?" Daryl shook his head with a scowl, and chewed absently on his thumb.

"Last thing I remember 's talkin' ta Glenn. But it ain't t'do with the head injury, old man, I see that look in yer eyes," Daryl lifted a hand, and pointed an accusing finger at Hershel, who had stepped forward in alarm, "Sometimes my mind jus' forgets things. S'happened before. Like when my Pa would smack me around when I was a kid. I'd wake up an' not remember anythin'. This is one of those times, I think, so there ain't no reason fer ya ta get all worried or nothin'."

Rick studied Daryl carefully, seeing the hurt and pain that the man was mentally pushing down, and saw the truth in his eyes. As a cop, his mind went into a disapproving mode, and the words _child abuse_ flashed into his head, though Daryl had only mentioned it briefly.

But as a father, he felt fury surge through him, because even though Daryl was a grown man by now, the thought of anyone hitting their child almost made him see red. The thought of him giving Carl a belt with intent and anger made him feel sick.

Hershel though, seemed to accept the information without much argument, but came right up to Daryl's side. "I've just got to check the incision, son," he told an immediately wary Daryl, who grudgingly lifted his hands up from where he had covered the patch of gauze protectively.

"'m not yer son," He mumbled quietly, but there was no malice in his voice, "How long I gotta be in here anyway? In th' house, I mean."

Rick snorted out a laugh, "You miss a cold tent and sleeping on the hard ground?" Daryl only glared at him, not seeming overly angered by his comment though, just slightly weary.

"Well?"

"I would say a few more days at least," Hershel finished his examination of the surgical site, and covered it carefully back up, "Definitely that at a minimum. Your ankle is still swollen and injured, so you aren't going to be able to get far on it anyway, and I want to be extra vigilant with this wound to ensure that it doesn't get infected. No dirty ground for you for a while. Are you that desperate to get out of this house, and back to your tent?"

Daryl glanced over at his crossbow that was leaning against the wall a few feet away, and shrugged, "'m not safe here. All my weapons are in my tent, an' I'm wastin' a whole room in yer house. Surely you'll be glad ta get rid o' me, with all the trouble I've caused ya."

Unable to say anything, he was so stunned; Rick simply looked at Hershel and waited to hear his reaction.

"Don't be ridiculous, son, there isn't anyone waiting to use this room. And I believe that your group have established a twenty four hour watch outside on top of the Winnebago, so my farm is safe. I would be willing be bet that Glenn would bring that knife in that you were arguing about as well, without a second's thought." Daryl seemed confused at the mention of a knife, along with Rick, but then he figured out that the conversation must have happened during Daryl's memory lapse.

"I ain't yer son." Daryl repeated the words, but with no conviction behind them, and scowled slightly in spite of himself. "An' none of that changes the fact that I'm outta here the second that I can. I havta get back out an' look fer Sophia again."

Rick winced slightly at the mention of Sophia, and watched Daryl's frown deepened as he caught sight of the movement. "I was out in the woods today, didn't see a sign of her. I'll get some people together to start the search tomorrow though."

"That's cause you ain't a tracker, you people can't find shit in the woods. I'll find her, once you people let me outta this fuckin' room." Daryl glanced down momentarily at his wrapped up ankle, and bit his lip in pain as he managed to twitch it to one side. "_Shit_." He muttered to himself.

"I'm serious when I say that if you push yourself too fast, recovery will just take longer," Hershel says slowly, heading towards the door. "I don't want any weight on that ankle for at least three days. We'll let you get some rest now, but keep that in mind. You don't have to be the tough guy on this one."

Smiling openly at Hershel's last statement, Rick followed him to the door, keeping his back to Daryl so the other man wouldn't be able to see the grin that had spread across his face. Just as they were opening the door, Daryl's retort came back.

"What ya mean, the fuckin' tough guy? I ain't gon' be a fuckin' pussy like the rest 'a you people!"

.

Glenn sat at the kitchen table, playing cards with Maggie, and feeling like he was the worst person in the world.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could feel Daryl's limp body falling against him, and the knowledge that he had failed the man pressing down hard on him, "Go fish," He said numbly to Maggie, who sighed silently, and reached over to pick up a card, slipping her other arm around his torso.

"Daryl's going to be okay, Glenn," She told him for the hundredth time, "You heard my dad, he said that everything went fine, and Daryl's awake and everything. Why don't you just go in and talk to him, I'm sure that you'd both benefit from it."

Another voice chimed in from the doorway, "Yeah, Glenn. Daryl doesn't remember what happened, only talking to you before the incident, and he seems pretty worn out in there. I'm sure that he'd appreciate the company, especially from you." Rick was leaning against the doorframe, watching them, and he looked about as weary as Glenn felt.

Glenn hesitated, looking around for an excuse, "But, um, we're in the middle of a game, and I'm sure that he doesn't really want—"

"Don't you worry about the game," Maggie interrupted him swiftly, throwing her cards down, "I was winning anyway. Now you go in there, and stop moping over what happened. It wasn't your fault. He is going to be fine, and you are going to go and keep his stubborn ass company, because you're one of the only people that he seems to tolerate. You got it?"

He looked over towards Rick, and then back at Maggie, and rolled his eyes at their attempt to bully him into confronting Daryl.

_His stifled cry of pain. The way he lurched forward. Hands struggle to catch his falling body, but unprepared for his weight. All his dead weight crashes down. Both fall to the ground. He's not moving. _

"Fine."

.

He grabbed Daryl's knife that he had gotten hours ago off the table, and made his way down the hall.

Glenn grew more nervous the closer he got to the door.

Finally, he reached it, and opened it cautiously. "Um, Daryl?"

"That you, chinaman?" Glenn stuck his head around the door, knowing that Daryl probably hated him for what he had done, "Well fuckin' come in if yer gonna, ain't no use standin' out there fer half the fuckin' day like a puppet."

He walked into the room, and held up the knife, "I, um, brought you this. And, eh, I'm so sorry about before… it was all my fault, and I'm so sorry and I just—sorry Daryl, oh God, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise until it was too late, and then you were on the ground, and I just—"

Daryl's face screwed up in confusion, and after a moment or two, he held up a hand to stop Glenn, "What the fuck are you talking about, Glenn? The way I heard the story, I was too feverish ta listen otherwise, or somethin' like that, an' Hershel wouldn't have seen that it was infected if that hadn't happened, so 's fine. Now, toss me that knife. I missed that fuckin' thing."

Assuming that he didn't mean to literally throw it, Glenn walked over and handed the knife to Daryl, and was left standing awkwardly beside the bed.

When he was finished turning the weapon over in his hands a few times, and examining it, Daryl rolled his eyes and scoffed at Glenn, "Lighten up, chinaman. I said that I'm fine with whatever went down, so can we jus' forget it? Now, either sit yer ass down, or get out, cause I don't need no one fuckin' _hovering_ over me like some damn fly, y'hear?"

Glenn sank down into the chair behind him, and felt some of the tension slip away.

"So, uh, what's with you and that knife? You're looking pretty attached to it right there."

.

_Well, I'm about to fall sleep in front of this screen now, so don't hate me if this chapter isn't the best :0 I'll get the next one up on the weekend I think, but would love to hear what you thought of this chapter!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	15. Chapter 15

_Hey guys :) Here's the next chapter! Thanks to you guys who reviewed the last chapter…_

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"So, uh, what's with you and that knife? You're looking pretty attached to it right there."

Daryl looked down at the weapon that he was turning over and over in his hands, and let out a hoarse chuckle. "This here is the first thing I killed a walker with."

And then Glenn understood perfectly. There was something about that moment, the second when you first killed a walker, which just changed you. For him, it had been a thick pizza stone, that had been lying on the counter next to him when he'd seen his first walker. The shell of a man had stumbled into the pizza place just as Glenn was starting his shift, (even though he arrived to work two hours earlier than usual because he was hungry and poor and able to eat pizza for free there), and he had panicked, because even though he had heard about all of it on the radio and news, it had been nowhere near Atlanta until it dragged itself into the shop right in front of him.

"It was a girl one. One of th' girls I used ta go ta school with actually. Her name was Mandy… or maybe it was Mindy. I can't remember now. She lived in town. An' she was just there in the woods, half her ribcage torn out an' shit, an' then she came fer me. Jus' fuckin' charged, an' I didn't know what to do."

Glenn had screamed, and crashed backwards against the pizza oven, burning his arm badly on the oven as it cooked the food. The walker had snarled, and started coming for him, fresh blood dripping down its chin, and all he could think of was Tony, who worked the phones in the pizza place but was nowhere to be seen. The smell of his burning skin made Glenn snap out of it.

"I didn't know that ya had ta go fer the brain. She came at me, an' I knew somethin wasn't right. Ain't no one who can walk around with no ribs, or half a leg. But I didn't know about the brain. So I started ta stab her, again and again, but she jus' kept comin'. I cut off half her rotting arm at the elbow, but that didn't stop her either. Not even fer a minute. She jus' groaned, an' kept reaching fer me. Didn't even think 'a runnin' cause she would have come right after me."

The male walker dragged itself closer to him, and Glenn caught a glimpse of chunks flesh between its teeth. He had gagged and almost thrown up then, but the thing was getting closer, and the knives were on the other side of the kitchen, so he grabbed the stone tray that they used for pizzas and let out something that sounded like a sob and a howl at the same time.

"Then finally, I managed ta get her in the head, stabbed the knife right in between her cheekbone and jawline, and angled it upwards. Then she died, again, an' I was left with a body, an' no fuckin' idea what was goin' on."

Glenn had smashed the heavy object in the man's face, and screamed for help at the same time. but no one came, so he just kept beating the man with the pizza stone, until dark blood covered him, and the walker's face was nothing more than a caved in mess. Then he had turned, and gotten sick, tears mingling with the blood on his face. It felt like he was dying. His arm was throbbing, and his head felt like it was exploding, and the sweet smell of cooking pizza was still in the air.

"So I headed back ta town, saw what a hell that had become, fuckin' walkers everywhere, an' made it back ta my place. Fought my way outta there, an' then went ta get Merle."

He had rushed out into the front of the pizza place, to see the remains of Tony, and then to the window, to see hoards of walkers shambling around. People had been screaming, and Glenn had had to clamp a hand over his own mouth to keep his screams silent. Things had only gotten worse from there.

"This is a good knife. Damned well saved my ass numerous times, anyway… You're lookin' a bit green there, chinaman."

Glenn swallowed hard, "Just… remembering."

Daryl didn't say anything to that. They all knew what it was like to remember, and how nothing much good came out of talking about things. So they both just sat there for an hour or so, in relative silence, just remembering.

They'd never be able to truly forget.

.

A whole day passed.

Daryl stayed in bed, like a good patient, but he bitched whenever Hershel tried to come near him, and made it perfectly clear that he wasn't a damn invalid, and that he wasn't to be treated like one. That didn't stop the old man from trying to stuff him full of painkillers and antibiotics, and every other damn thing that he could, despite Daryl's protests that he was wasting half the supplies on him.

No one seemed to listen to him on that particular argument.

He also had more visitors that day. It seemed like on that one day, half the damn group had trekked into his room, and every single person had surprised him when they had walked through the door, because he hadn't expected any of them to give that much of a crap about him.

First it was Andrea. She had knocked softly on his door, to which he had yelled out, "What the fuck do you want _now_, Grimes?" Then she had looked in nervously, and before Daryl knew what was happening, Ms. Fancy Lawyer herself was sitting in the chair beside his bed, and looking like she was about to burst into tears right there in front of him. Daryl had stared at her confused, and wondering if she had the wrong room or something.

"Daryl… I…" She'd started off tearfully, but he had stopped her before she could continue.

"Uh, whoa, whoa, whoa. There ain't no need fer tears or any of that shit. M'fine, woman, so don't go all Rick on me, an' give me a speech. I ain't one of yer clients or the jury in yer courtroom, y'hear?" Andrea had nodded, and wiped away the few tears that had slipped past her defences. "I don't want ta hear none o' that shit."

Then, just when he had been expecting her to tell him that he was an ass and walk out, she had taken a deep breath, and started to explain the theory behind fishing to him. It just came from out of the blue, as if her mouth had just opened, and fishing had come out as a default. Daryl had been so shocked that he'd actually listened to it. Then she had educated him in the exact proper way to set up lines and bait, and all sorts of crap that he could barely understand, with the fishing jargon thrown in.

Finally, she had stopped, and blurted out an apology to him, rushing from the room before he had a chance to ask her what she was saying sorry for.

Daryl had had ten minutes to himself then, to wonder what the fuck had just happened, before T-Dog had barged into his room.

The guy had practically collapsed into the chair, propping his legs up on the bed, and had proceeded to ask him all sorts of random questions about hunting. Still wondering what the hell was up with these people, Daryl had started to answer T-Dog queries, though rather hesitant at the beginning, wondering if the guy actually had any interest at all, or if he was just taking the piss out of him for some reason. It seemed like he did actualy care though, T-Dog hanging onto Daryl's every word, and not looking bored out of his mind like Shane had when he had once asked out of boredom how Daryl hunted. That conversation had lasted about five seconds.

After a half an hour, Daryl had to ask a question that had been running through his mind, "Why are ya askin' me all these things? Ya wanna learn how ta hunt or somethin'?"

T-Dog had shrugged, "Not particularly, though some of this stuff is pretty useful. I just know that's what you're interested in, so I thought that I'd see what was so great about it. It's cooler than I thought it would be though." He had glanced out the window at that point, and jumped, slapping his hand onto his forehead, "Shit, I promised Dale that I'd help him with something, I gotta go. But good talk, man, that shit's pretty interesting."

Daryl had scowled purely out of principle as T-Dog had clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly manner, and then headed out of the room quickly, whistling some kind of tune. He had no idea what was up with these people today.

His eyes had gotten heavy then, and though he tried to fight it, Daryl found himself slipping down on his good side from pure exhaustion, and his eyes closing slowly. It was stupid of him though, taking a fuckin' nap in the middle of the day. It was the end of the world, for God's sake.

But then he'd slipped his hand under his pillow, and felt the cold metal of his knife, and found himself feeling safer. He was still prepared, even if he was taking a nap.

He wouldn't let anything get him.

.

Daryl woke up to the sound of knocking at the door.

"Who's it?" He called out as he pulled himself into a sitting position, because honestly, with all his visitors that morning, he really had no idea who could walk through that door.

The last person that he ever would have suspected stuck his head around the door, and grinned, "Hey Daryl! Can I come in?" His jaw dropped with shock, and he blinked twice to make sure that he wasn't still dreaming. Maybe he was hallucinating again though.

"_Carl_?"

The boy came into the room, hands stuffed into his pockets, and a cheeky grin on his face. "I'm glad that you're okay. My dad and everyone else was really worried about you. So was I, but no one would let me come in for ages."

Daryl ran a hand through his hair, "Yer mother know yer here, kid?" Because it was no fuckin' secret that Lori Grimes hated him, and Daryl would really prefer not to have her storming in, and yelling at him for hours like he could envision her doing.

Carl nodded enthusiastically, "Yup. And my dad said I could too! And Hershel as well, cause I had to ask him cause it's his house. My mom says to tell you not to curse around me, but I don't mind."

"It's the end of the world, kid," Daryl rolled his eyes, "'s the pefect fuckin' time fer cursing. Yer old enough anyway, I guess. How old are ya again?" Not that he'd known the kid's age in the first place though.

The boy laughed slightly, and then replied, "Twelve. But my birthday is in only a few weeks, an' then I'll be thirteen."

"I know how ta count, kid, no matter what yer ma's been tellin' ya." Daryl couldn't resist slipping that last comment in. The woman was a bitch in his opinion, always being far too judgemental, and sticking her nose in where it didn't belong. How Rick put up with her, he didn't know, and Daryl honestly had no idea why Shane had been trying to get with her back near Atlanta.

Carl smirked, and then asked, "How old are you?"

"Don't ya know it's fuckin' rude ta ask that?" Daryl shot back, and Carl burst out laughing. He even cracked a grin himself.

"But you just asked me!"

The banter with Carl was surprisingly easier than Daryl had anticipated it to be, and he concluded that it was probably because the kid wasn't with his mother. He thought the boy was far too sheltered, and it was the apocalypse, where there wasn't no room for kids who didn't know how to toughen up. Not that there had ever been a place for them in his world, before the dead had started walking.

"Does it hurt?"

Daryl shrugged, glad that he had his shirt buttoned up so Carl couldn't see the patch of gauze on his side, "You've had worse, buddy. We both have."

"Worse than this?" Daryl shrugged again, not knowing what to say to the kid. Then Carl blurted out, "My dad said that you were going to die. Well, he didn't say it, but it was _implied_."

From the way Carl pronounced the word, Daryl was fairly certain that he'd only just learned it, "I'm still here, ain't I." Carl nodded, but looked unsure," I'm fine, kid. I ain't gon' croak any time soon, y' hear? No need ta look all worried."

"But that's what my dad said before. He said that you were fine, but then you got hurt again when he wasn't here, and Hershel came out, and he had lots of blood on him, and he said that he thought you were gonna die, and my dad still wasn't there, and Glenn wouldn't talk to anyone, and Andrea and Carol started crying again, and… what if it happens again when my dad isn't here? Cause Hershel said that you were gonna—and I didn't know what to do, and I couldn't do anything, and—"

Daryl reached over, and grabbed Carl by the arm, stopping him in mid speech, shaking his arm a little.

"Hey. Kid, it's okay. Look at me, I'm here. I'm right here, and I'm getting' better, y'hear? So jus' take a breath, an' breathe, okay? Yer shaking, an' everything."

Then something happened that Daryl honestly could never have seen coming.

Carl looked up at him lip trembling, and reached over to hug him. The kid was really careful, but he still wrapped his arms around Daryl and held on as tightly as he dared. Daryl froze for a second, having absolutely no idea what to do, until he hesitantly started to hug Carl back.

He could feel the boy shaking slightly in his arms, so he gruffly mutter, "It's okay, kid, I ain't goin' anywhere. I'm right here, an' I'm fine, and yer fine, ya hear? We're both right here, and there ain't nothin' that's gon' happen, okay?"

They separated after a few minutes, Carl still looking visibly shaken, but better than he had before. "Thanks, Daryl. And, um, I'm sorry"

"It's okay, kid. An' everyone gets ta have a meltdown at some point. Ain't nothin' wrong with it. 's normal, really."

Then then sound of Lori calling for Carl from the front door filtered in to them, and Carl jumped off the bed that he had managed to clamber onto during their hug. "I gotta go. I hope you feel better really, um, fucking soon." Carl beamed the second he uttered the curse, but then flinched when he heard his mother call his name again, as if he was terrified that she could have heard him somehow. "Bye, Daryl!"

"See ya, kid," He said, in a rough tone back to Carl, watching as the twelve year old jumped off the bed, and ran for the door.

"I'm coming, mom!"

Daryl took a moment to wonder why the kid liked him so much. He couldn't think of anything that would make Carl seem so excited to spend time with him though.

Except the possibility of cursing maybe.

.

Glenn sat with Maggie on the porch, talking quietly with their hands intertwined.

Whenever she spoke, he felt a burst of something in his stomach, an explosion of feelings that he just couldn't describe. There was something about this girl that was special, he knew, and his heart nearly somersaulted as she grinned at him.

He had definitely fallen for her.

It was something that he had never experienced before. Sure, he'd like girls before, but none of them had ever liked him back. Being a pizza delivery boy wasn't exactly the most appealing of jobs by a long shot. But Maggie… she seemed to genuinely like him, in a way that he had never known.

Glenn found himself leaning in closer, and then suddenly she was too, and her sentence trailed away as their lips met.

Then he realised what they were doing, that they were kissing right on the porch, in full view of the campsite, and with the risk that her father would march out, and he started to pull away. Maggie shook her head though, and pulled him in closer, pushing his hat off his head, and running a hand through his hair.

He didn't even care then. Because he was really pretty sure that he might love this girl, and it was the end of the world, and if he couldn't kiss a pretty girl on his porch with the risk of her father coming out, than he didn't couldn't do anything. Glenn leaned back into the kiss, and wrapped his arms around Maggie.

The sun shone down on them, and the world was silent for what seemed like the first time in a long time.

This was… this was perfection.

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_So I hope that you all liked this chapter :) I was a little disappointed by the amount of reviews for the last chapter compared with normal, but am hoping that some of you guys still like this. I know my updating is terrible these days, but I'm trying really hard to make it more regular!_

_Anyway, will try and get the next chapter up before next weekend at the earliest :)_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	16. Chapter 16

_So… Late update, and I really suck. Yeah. Big big apology guys, sorry to leave you hanging for so long. Thanks to _tytytytytytytyty _who got me off my ass, and up to writing this chapter :) _

_Fingers crossed that people are still reading this fic._

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Two days had passed, and Daryl was moving out of the spare room.

He was sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed, watching with narrowed eyes as Rick hovered over him, holding his crossbow and looking worried. "Be fuckin' careful with that," Daryl growled, as Rick shifts the weapon around, changing his grip on it, having no idea how to hold the thing. Rick winces, and settles for gripping the crossbow with two hands, a look of concentration on his face.

"I still think that this is too soon." Hershel calls out for what feels like the millionth time, standing by the door. Daryl only rolls his eyes, and bites at his thumb nervously, wanting to get out of this damn room.

T-Dog chose that moment to burst into the room, grinning widely, "You ready to bust out, man?" Daryl scowled even more, but was glad to see the other man, even if he would never admit it. T-Dog clapped his hands together in anticipation, and looked around at Rick and Hershel, "So how are we going to do this thing?"

"Okay, I don't want Daryl putting too much of his weight on that foot. And under no circumstances is he to strain his side. So, I'm going to need you to support him on his left side, and then we'll see how things go from there, okay?"

Just as Daryl was readying himself to stand, T-Dog waiting patiently beside him to steady him, Glenn stuck his head around the door, "You guys need any help in here?"

Despite Daryl's loud groan of annoyance, Hershel gestured Glenn inside, and briefed him on how they were going to get Daryl out of the house, and across camp. Seeing Daryl's anticipation, Glenn didn't utter a word, not even when Daryl let out a groan as he hauled himself to his feet.

Before he could even take a second to appreciate the simple act of standing unaided, each man beside him gently took one of his arms, and slung them across their shoulders. Then Daryl was shuffling his good foot forward, and he was biting his lip as hard as he ever had before. When he went to take a step with his injured foot, Hershel called out, "Careful, careful, support him!"

Daryl scowled, but felt the smallest rush of relief as he felt-Dog and Glenn lift him slightly, so his foot only brushed lightly against the wooden floor. A rush of pain flooded through him, but he only bit his lip harder, and struggled to take another step. The whole room was silent as he made his way slowly to the door, a few beads of sweat trailing down his forehead as he frowned in intense concentration.

The steps down and out of the house were the hardest.

Rick walked in front of them slowly, watching carefully for anything that might trip him, but mostly just stared at Daryl intensely, "Yer fuckin' starin', Grimes," He managed to ground out after another few steps, and barely heard Rick's muted reply through the sound of the blood rushing through his ears.

Daryl figured that someone must have gone through camp before they had come out of the house, because there was no one around. Not even Dale was on the top of the RV, with his fuckin' stupid old man hat. If he had had any breath left, Daryl would have scoffed at the thought of Dale, and his fuckin' stupid old man hat. But he didn't, so Daryl decided to concentrate on not collapsing halfway to his tent.

His concentration wavered for a second though, and his good foot dragged along the ground, and then he felt himself falling. Daryl's vision faded for a moment, but then he felt T-Dog and Glenn both reach out their other hands, and grab him around his torso, making sure that he wouldn't crumple to the ground. T-Dog grabbed him as carefully as he could, trying hard not to jostle his incision site, but Daryl still moaned all the same, "Sorry, man, sorry, sorry, are you okay?" T-Dog was asking him loudly in his ear.

"Keep him steady, don't let him fall!" Then Hershel was yelling well, and all Daryl wanted to do was curl up into a ball on the ground. But he couldn't cause Glenn and T-Dog were doing far too good a job of keeping him upright and stable. He let out a groan.

Somehow, during all the commotion, Daryl realised that his eyes had closed. He snapped them open, to see Rick's face far too close to his own, and he jerked back out of instinct.

By some small miracle, Daryl managed to jerk his head back up again. _He's too fuckin' close_. "Git outta me fuckin' face, Grimes." Then he takes another step. And another. Glenn and T-Dog have copped on by this point, and they're practically lifting him clear off his feet, but Daryl is too exhausted to be pissed at people helping him, and he just really fuckin' wants to be back in his tent_, by himself._

So he makes it.

Because he is Daryl Dixon, and he will make it to that tent even if it kills him. That house is slowly suffocating him, and he'll be damned if he's ever going back in there again.

.

When Daryl reaches his tent, he lets himself go almost completely limp, and doesn't even groan as T-Dog and Glenn lower him onto his sleeping bag.

Its softer than he remembers, and even with his eyes half closed, Daryl can tell that something is different with his tent. "Th'fuck ya do wit' ma tent?" He drawls, words barely audible. At the awkward silence that follows, Daryl cracks open an eye, and glances around.

His tent couldn't have been more different to how he remembered it. Someone had put a duvet on top of his bedroll, as well as what felt like ten blankets. He hadn't owned a pillow previously, and now it seemed as if he was the proud owner of three feather ones, that probably cost more than his crossbow. His things were all stacked and folded up neatly, within reach of his bed, as well as three or four random books.

Daryl grunted, and flicked his gaze lazily over to Glenn, who was shifting on the balls of his feet, and looking slightly guilty. He met Daryl's eyes, and shrugged, "I had to. Hershel would have never let you leave his house if he'd seen the state of this tent before. You… you didn't have much stuff. Like, only a sleeping bag. And Hershel said that you weren't allowed to sleep on the bare ground, and that's like the same thing, so then he gave me all this stuff, and I—yeah. Sorry."

As much as he wanted to be pissed, the bed underneath him was so comfortable it almost hurt, so Daryl just let his eyes slip closed, "Whatever. Don't fuckin' touch my stuff again though."

Glenn and T-Dog both quietly said goodbye, shuffling out of the tent. Daryl didn't move. He just focused on breathing, and how good it finally felt to be back in his tent. But then the old man was stomping into the tent, and bending over him, trying to look at his incision, and poking his injured foot, and Daryl growled.

"M'fine. Just fuckin' leave me be."

Hershel let out that irritated and disappointed sigh that he always did around Daryl, but, to Daryl's surprise, he took his hands off him, and backed away. "Okay, son. You win this time. But if you get any unexpected pain or loss of sensation during the night, you had better let out a yell, or else… I'll haul you back to that house, and keep you in that spare room for a month. Do you understand me?"

Daryl considered telling Hershel for the millionth time that he _wasn't_ his son, but something held him back this time. Maybe he'd be able to blame it on the pure exhaustion, but he just couldn't get the words out.

So he settled for grunting, "Fine." And then he rolled over slightly, letting out a sigh of thankfulness for the goddamn softness of his bed.

Rick let out a low laugh, and draped a blanket over his body, like he was a fuckin' dog or something, and then Daryl muttered for him to _fuck off_, and then he was drifting off to sleep, and filled with a sense of relief so strong that he almost felt like crying.

Not that he ever would though. He had a reputation to uphold with these idiots.

.

Rick exited Daryl's tent as quietly as he could, trying, and failing, to hide the smile on his face.

Daryl had looked like a little kid, curled up in a mound of blankets, face slightly smeared with dirt and sweat. He always looked so vulnerable while he slept. Rick shook his head slightly, that was always the one thing that never failed to astound him about Daryl, how innocent he looked while he was sleeping.

Glenn and T-Dog were waiting a few metres away from the tent, talking quietly amongst themselves, "He doing okay?" T-Dog asked immediately, looking concerned as Rick approached them.

"I think he'll be just fine," The words made Glenn beam, and T-Dog grin goofily, "Thanks again, guys, for what you did this afternoon. I know it got a bit tetchy near the end, but I really think that it'll do him better to be back in that tent."

"Me too. Especially since Hershel gave us all those blankets and stuff. I dunno how Daryl was just sleeping on a sleeping bag though. I would have died without my fold up mattress and cot a long time ago."

T-Dog let out a laugh at this, nodding his head in agreement, "Dixon's just crazy like that. He never mentioned not having one either, not even a pillow, but thinking about it, how the fuck was he supposed to keep all that stuff on the bike anyway?"

Rick frowned at that statement, having never thought about things like that. Wherever they went, all the boots of the cars were always full up with stuff. The bedrolls that they'd found a few weeks back had been a godsend, as well as the small fold up cots that most of them had. When he thought about it though, the sheer lack of possessions that Daryl had was quite sad. Sure, they'd all lost things in the apocalypse, but somehow it seemed like Daryl had lost the most.

Or maybe he'd just never had anything to begin with.

Rick wasn't sure which statement was more heart-breaking.

.

That evening, Rick decided that he had probably better check on Daryl. There hadn't been a single sound from the tent the whole afternoon, and he was supposed to bring Daryl in painkillers and water sometime around then anyway.

Pausing at the tent entrance, Rick called out, "Daryl? Can I come in?" There was no reply. "Uh, Daryl? I have painkillers for you?" Another minute went past, with nothing but silence, and Rick felt his heart jump into his mouth, his brain thinking up the worst possible scenarios, "Daryl? I'm coming in!"

He barged into the tent, dropping to his knees at the sight of a motionless Daryl, and quickly pressing two fingers to the man's neck. A few seconds passed, and then Rick could feel Daryl's pulse, and noticed his slightly shallow breathing_. Thank God._ Rick was frozen for a few minutes, just trying to convince himself that he hadn't really nearly just panicked, but getting nowhere.

The fact that Daryl was still asleep was such a testament to the fact that he was exhausted, and Rick almost considered leaving him be for a few more hours. But then he looked down at the pain medication and the water, and knew that it was probably better to wake Daryl now, rather than have him wake up in pain later.

"Daryl? Daryl, wake up."

Rick spoke in the loudest but gentlest voice that he could muster up, knowing from experience that Daryl didn't respond well from being shaken awake, like he would do to Carl or Glenn. He'd never forget that those two days when Shane had walked around with a black eye, all from tapping Daryl awake when he fell asleep one night at the campfire, before they had reached the CDC.

The man took a few minutes to respond, and when he did, his eyes were bleary. "Wha'?" He slurred, sluggishly rubbing at his eyes with one hand. Rick had to supress a smile at the sight of Daryl's bed hair, all mussed up and scruffy.

"Med time." He held out the two white pills, which Daryl clumsily took, and swallowed immediately, "And take some water too."

Daryl groaned, clearly so out of it and sleepy that he could barely hold a conversation, so Rick took that as his cue. He stood just as Daryl was gulping down the water, some running down his neck, though he didn't seem to notice or care, "Okay, I'll let you sleep. Just yell if you need anything."

He was halfway out of the tent when Daryl called out his name. Rick turned, "Yeah? You need anything? What can I get you?"

"Thanks."

.

_So, this is just kinda a short filler chapter, I promise more action for the next one! Thanks for all the reviews for the last chapter, again, sorry for the late update, I have been so horribly busy. Also, I may be getting a book published on Amazon, so have been preoccupied with that…_

_Next chapter will be up on the weekend! Reviews help me write faster though :)_

_Review..?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	17. Chapter 17

_Yay, an update that's not late! Haha, so this is the second last chapter now, so I hope you all enjoy it :) Thanks for all the reviews from the last chapter – they were much appreciated._

.

To everyone's surprise, Daryl actually did stay put in his tent for a few days.

Rick and Hershel had had several conversations, about what to do in the event that Daryl decided to just take off and start wandering around before he was ready. Not that they'd come to any conclusions, but it had been one of Hershel's main concerns about Daryl moving out to his tent.

But it had actually gone… okay. For the first day and a half, Daryl had literally just slept. Each time that Hershel had ventured into his tent to check on him, he'd found the hunter fast asleep, curled up in the mounds of blankets that had come from the house. Rick had been concerned, constantly afraid that Daryl would slip into a coma or something, he had been sleeping that soundly, but Hershel had calmed his nerves quickly enough.

He'd been told that Daryl's body simply needed time to heal, and that sleep was the best thing for him. That in itself had confirmed Rick's suspicions that Daryl hadn't been comfortable or felt safe in the house, because he had always been struggling to stay awake. But then, when he was in his tent, with all his possessions and weapons around him, somewhere private, he was content to sleep for hours upon hours.

For the first day or two, whenever Rick had gone to give Daryl his meds, or water, he'd had to wake the other man up, before coaxing pills into him. Four times out of five, Daryl had fallen asleep again before Rick had even left the tent.

But then Daryl had started staying conscious for longer periods of time, and Rick got worried again.

Then Rick was afraid that Daryl would just take off into the woods one day, to look for Sophia, and get himself killed because he was still too injured. So he had quietly mentioned to Glenn, T-Dog, and Andrea to keep an eye out for Daryl, and make sure he wasn't skulking off when he thought no one was looking. Rick knew that they'd be both respectful and discreet.

But that didn't happen either.

Daryl spent two days just lying in his tent, constructing arrows out of branches and sturdy twigs he'd made Glenn go collect. Rick was pretty sure he'd even seen Carl scrounging around for feathers a day or two ago, for the bolts.

He didn't have many visitors. It was different, from when Daryl had been in the house, when he was sicker and weaker, sometimes unconscious, and it had been easy for them to just walk into the room. And then for the first day and a half when he'd been out of the house, he'd been out like a light, and everyone had kept a wide berth.

Things were starting to get back to what they used to be, Rick noticed. Daryl gave out a clear vibe, which discouraged people from coming near. It was mostly because of the fact that he was confined to his tent, the only small, personal space he had left, and it wasn't hard to guess that Daryl didn't like people looking around his things.

So they mostly stayed away, except for when Rick gave Daryl his meds, and Glenn handed him in his portion of dinner each night. Not that he ever ate it, Glenn always retrieving a basically untouched plate after a few hours.

Once though, when Rick had been handing Daryl his usual morning painkillers, the man had coughed slightly, and asked, "So, uh, how's Carol? Y'know, since Sophia…"

Rick had tensed slightly, and chosen his words carefully, "She keeps to herself. I don't think she's handling it as good as she could, but it could be worse, I suppose." Then he had paused for a moment, adding quietly, "She was really worried about you."

Daryl had scoffed slightly at that, seeming at the thought that someone could be concerned for him, and then rolled over onto his side again, without another word. Two minutes later, he'd been out cold again.

.

Rick had mentioned it to Carol. She had been doing what she normally ended up doing these days, sitting on the steps of the RV, just watching.

"Hey, Carol," He'd said, moving to sit down next to her. She had politely nodded at him, not saying anything, "So, Daryl was asking for you earlier. He wanted to know how you were doing. You didn't… you didn't go see him when he was in the house, so I was wondering, you know, if you would maybe look in on him. I'm sure he wouldn't mind the company. The guy's probably sick of my face by now…" He trailed off as Carol began to shake her head.

Carol had stood up, wrapping her arms around herself, "No, Rick. I can't—I can't. I… I nearly got him killed. If I had—if I had just kept an eye on Sophia, then he wouldn't have almost died. And she would be back with me, and—and Daryl wouldn't be hurt in that tent, all by himself. Rick, I just—I don't think that I can face him."

"He's not mad at you, Carol," Rick called out to her, as she started to retreat back into the RV, "He's not angry or mad in the slightest."

But she had been shaking her head, and closing the door.

.

They were all shocked when, on the fourth day since his 'release' from the house, Daryl appeared for dinner.

Rick had just sat down, glancing around camp, when he'd seen Daryl emerge from his tent. The man walked over to them all, with only a slight limp, and nodded silently. "Good to see you, Daryl." Rick finally got out, just as Daryl had sat down heavily in a fold up chair.

Glenn handed him his rations, and Rick was even more surprised to see Daryl take a full bite of some veg. He grunted his thanks to T-Dog, when the man had handed him a cup of water, and then had settled back into chair, narrowing his eyes out at the darkness around them.

Then Daryl had leaned forward, his blue eyes piercing into Carol's, and had said, "Tomorrow. Tomorrow's the day I find yer little girl."

Carol only nodded, one hand pressed against her mouth, and Daryl stood up slowly. He drained the rest of the water in the cup, placing it carefully on his chair, and then dropped his small, almost untouched meal into Carl's lap gently.

"Thanks fer dinner," He said roughly, and then made his way back to his tent.

.

The next day, Rick got up earlier than usual, and sat at the campfire, watching Daryl's tent. He was wondering if Daryl was really healed enough, and if he wasn't, how Rick was supposed to stop him.

Daryl came out of his tent silently, crossbow in one hand, and knife in the other. His eyes flickered over to where Rick was patiently sitting, and Rick was eighty per cent positive that Daryl rolled his eyes. He stood up as the other man came over, "Daryl—"

"_Don't_, Grimes. I'm fuckin' fine. An' I owe it ta that woman in there," Daryl gestured to the RV, "ta find her little girl. An' that's what I'm gon' do. Cause its my own fuckin' fault that I damn near went an' killed myself, wastin' days not lookin' fer her, so don't say a fuckin' word ta me. Y'hear?"

All the arguments that Rick had suddenly drained out of his mind, and he nodded numbly. "Okay." Daryl looked surprised, but nodded none the less, already turning around. "Be careful."

"I'll be back with the girl. Don't wait up."

And then Daryl was stalking across the field, and he was watching him go, and all Rick could think was, _God, I hope he finds her_.

.

Daryl had a plan. He had a fuckin' plan, and it was going to work, and Sophia would be fine.

He stomped through the undergrowth, not even wincing as he could feel his ankle swelling up already. He had a plan.

Daryl had had Glenn bring him a map, and then had painstakingly marked off everywhere that they had looked. He'd listened through the tent walls as Rick had talked to Shane about where he'd searched, and then marked those places off too. He'd had T-Dog mark off the areas where he'd been looking too, the one time the man had stuck his head into the tent.

So Daryl had his map in his pocket, and his plan, and _damnit_, it was going to work.

He'd seen that look in Carol's eyes the previous night. She'd barely been able to look at him, she'd been so disgusted. Hell, he was disgusted with himself. He'd wasted so much time in bed, and then more days in that fucking tent, and all the while Sophia had been missing.

She was still missing. But he had a plan.

No one had looked out in the swamps yet. They hadn't had time, or at least not one of them had thought of it. Daryl snorted loudly, fuckin' idiots. If Rick had bothered to consult the map more than once, he would have seen that the swamps were closer to the highway, if someone took a slightly roundabout route. Like a scared kid might.

Daryl knew what that was like. He remembered being that kid, running through the woods as fast as he could, stomach so sore he thought he was dying, and feeling the tears run down his small cheeks. He remembered being the lost kid, and he was determined to find Sophia.

She had people looking for him, the opposite of what he had. It might be the end of the world, but at least people were still looking for her. He was.

.

It took him three hours to get to the swamps. Daryl had gone all the way back to the highway, and then went as far as he could remember Sophia's trail going. Then he had closed his eyes briefly, and tried to remember how terrifying it had been.

He opened them, and started to walk again, in a direction that he knew led towards the swamps. His ankle throbbed, and his mouth was dry, but he kept going. Daryl yelled out for Sophia every few minutes, until his voice was gone, but then he simply paused for a moment to drink some water from the stream, and kept yelling.

By the time he reached the swamps, his voice was damn near shredded, and he'd already taken down three walkers.

But this was the plan, and he was going to find her.

.

Rick watched Carol come out of the RV, and start to prepare breakfast. She didn't even look at him, just started stirring the eggs, saying, "Do you think he'll come back?"

"He said that he wouldn't come back without Sophia. He seemed determined this morning."

A tear rolled down Carol's face, "I don't want anything to happen to him because of my mistakes. If he doesn't come back, I don't—I don't know what I'll do. I—"

He cut her off, just as she was about to start crying, "Carol. He's only been gone a few hours so far. Have some faith in him. I know that I do. Maybe he'll find her." She wiped away the tear, steeled herself, and kept working on keeping the powered eggs from burning.

"Okay."

.

He heard the familiar snarl of a walker, and whirled around. Within a second, his knife was buried in the corpse's eye, and a small smile was on his face.

Fuckin' walker, who thought he could sneak up on him. Daryl had heard that thing when it was five metres away, shuffling in the bushes. The grin slid off his face quickly though, as he yanked the knife out of the walker's eye socket with a squelch.

That had been the fourth walker in ten minutes. There were more wandering around than he had anticipated.

But Daryl had a plan, and he was going to stay out there, until he'd found that little girl.

"_Sophia_!"

His voice was cracked, hoarse, and it honestly felt as though his throat was somehow bleeding. Hours had passed since he had left the farm, and it was now afternoon. Daryl adjusted his crossbow, and yelled out again, "_Sophia_!"

Daryl turned in a 360, scanning the area around him. He yelled out her name once more, and then started to walk again. She wasn't there. But she was somewhere, and he would find her.

A movement in the corner of his gaze, had Daryl grabbing his crossbow quickly, and firing out a bolt. A squirrel fell to the ground, a few metres away. The group still had to eat. He'd already gotten four squirrels already. As he bent down to pick it up, Daryl smirked. He never missed.

He slung it onto the string that was carrying the other squirrels, and continued trudging forward. His shoes half sunk into the marshy ground, but he was able to pull them out fairly easily, and keep walking.

The river. That's where he was headed now. Maybe the kid had had enough sense to run along the river bank, or at least find her way back to it.

He had a plan. And he would find her.

.

It took him another hour to reach the river that ran just at the boundary to the swamp. By then, his legs were killing him, his ankle was numb with pain, and he could no longer raise his voice loud enough to yell. But he was still looking, and he would continue to, until he found her.

"S-Sophia." His voice cracked painfully, and Daryl coughed for a minute or two, in an attempt to get his voice back. "Sophia." It was weaker than he thought his voice had ever been, but it was loud enough to attract a stray walker in the quiet woods. He cursed, and shot an arrow through the thing's skull, retrieving it with a scowl.

But then he heard it.

It was just a rustling of bushes. Something that would suggest a walker nearby. But this wasn't no adult sized walker noise. It had to be from something small, something small enough to not be visible over the bush that Daryl was staring at.

"Sophia?" But then a snarl rose from within the bush, and Daryl felt his temper grow. He stomped over to the bush, yanking back the leaves, until he could see a mangled walker, with no legs, caught in the branches of the bush.

He spat on the thing's rotted face, and kicked it in the head. And then he kicked it again, with his good leg, letting his frustration out on the walker. Then he finally shot an arrow into its grotesque face, ending the thing's snarls with a roll of his eyes. Daryl bent down to retrieve the arrow, wincing outwardly as the pain in his side flared up, but not willing to sacrifice an arrow just because it hurt to get it back. That was just too fuckin' stupid.

So he just kept walking, his calls reduced to not much more than an agonizing whisper by the time he made his way towards the river.

When he finally did reach the river, just as evening was beginning to approach, he was limping heavily, and desperate for some more water. Daryl knelt down to shakily scoop up some water and sip at it, taking a deep breath. And then he heard it.

"Mr. Dixon?"

Daryl almost choked on the water, turning around so fast that he slipped, and fell into the river.

When he'd finally scrubbed the water out of his eyes, he had to force himself to blink several time, to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating.

Sophia was perched on one of the branches, in a tree that was just beside the river. She was filthy, gaunt thin, and looked like she was about to burst into tears, but she was _alive_. She was alive, and she was calling him 'Mr. Dixon.'

He scrambled out of the water, and wordlessly held his arms out for her. Sophia, hesitating for a moment, then jumped down from the branch, and he caught her in his arms. She was far lighter than any child her age should be, probably around the same weight he'd been.

"Sophia," He croaked out, ignoring the rasping element to his voice, "Kid, don't cry." Tears were streaming down her face, and Daryl could feel her arms lock around him, "S'okay. I found ya. Yer okay now, y'hear? C'mere, let me see ya."

Daryl lowered the sobbing child to the ground, and scanned his eyes up and down her arms, legs, and neck. "M'not bit, Mr. Dixon," Sophia sobbed, "I promise, I'm not. I'm not, I'm not. I hid in the tree, I swear. An' then I went down and got water, and then I went back up in the tree." She was shaking, so Daryl pulled her in for another hug. Tears soaked through his shirt, and he wondered how she managed to get her arms all the way around him, even with his crossbow on his back.

"I believe, ya, Sophia. Call me Daryl. C'mon now, lets get ya back ta yer mother."

.

He limped away from the river, Sophia clinging onto his back, crossbow in one hand, and the other holding onto the girl's legs. She was so frail, that he was worried she would fall off, so he kept a hand on his legs, which were twisted around his torso.

A walker loomed up in front of them, and she screamed, but Daryl had it under control. He put all his energy into swinging the crossbow up with one hand, and then pulled the trigger quickly. The walker collapsed soundlessly, an arrow lodged in his brain.

He never missed.

Then Sophia was crying and saying something about the arrow as they walked away, the one that was still in the walker, and he shook his head, "I got plenty more arrows back at camp. Right now, let's jus' getcha back ta yer mother."

.

_So what do you all think? Were you expecting all that to happen? Would love to hear all your thoughts on this chapter :) I'll have the next one up by next week._

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer._


	18. Chapter 18

It was dark.

Rick stood perfectly still, while the rest of the group ate in silence, looking out towards the trees. Daryl wasn't back yet, might not even come back at all, and his presence was sorely missed. The only sounds were the ones of people shifting in their chairs, all eyes either on the ground, or looking out at the woods.

Carol hadn't even come out of the RV. They had been able to hear her sobbing inside, all day long, her cries getting more and more hysterical as the hours passed. At one point, Rick had watched her wrench open the RV door, and stare out at the trees, tears streaming down her cheeks.

He had been worried that she would take off running into the woods, and he had readied himself to deal with her, but she had only bit her lip, and retreated back inside.

Everyone was painfully aware of the fact that Daryl had been gone for over fifteen hours, and that the minutes were running out. Sooner or later, Rick knew that he was going to have to say something, to prepare them all for the idea that Daryl might not be coming back.

From the looks of the group though, they already knew.

Carl was pressed up against his mother, lip trembling as he tried not to cry. Andrea and T-Dog were sitting closer than usual as well, both of them unconsciously twitching their legs in a display of anxiety. His eyes fixed on the edge of the woods, Glenn wasn't much different, his fisted hand trembling as he knocked it gently against his thigh. Shane was staring into the dirt, shovelling the small rations into his mouth, and looking conflicted. Dale was frowning, brow furrowed in an expression that Rick could easily recognise. Lori was looking up sadly at him, as if she already knew how this was going to end. Carol was crying in the RV.

He ran a hand over his face, and tried not to look as worried as he felt. Rick honestly didn't know what they were going to do if Daryl didn't come back to camp that evening. If he didn't emerge from the treeline before it was too late.

Because he doubted that they'd find him alive this time.

.

Sophia had stopped crying an hour or so ago, and Daryl was fairly sure that she had drifted off to sleep.

Her arms were still locked around his neck though, making breathing difficult, but there was no way that he was going to wake her up. She didn't need to see this shit, to have the fear of trudging back through a dark and dangerous forest on top of her.

Daryl's crossbow was hanging off his left forearm by its strap, the weight of the weapon threatening to damage his arm as it swung around painfully, his left hand holding tightly to Sophia's legs. In his other hand, was his hunting knife, which he had already used to silently kill off two walkers.

The crossbow was banging against his knee powerfully every time he took a step, and it was beginning to feel like the time Daryl's knee had swollen up for a week a few years ago, when he hadn't been able to put any weight on it at all. He grunted quietly, and tried to change his limp so that he wouldn't be getting smacked with the crossbow every two seconds, but he only achieved in stumbling. When he was able to get himself back limping properly, he could feel the crossbow sending shoots of pain into his kneecap again, but he only bit the inside of his gum until he could taste blood.

His injured ankle was barely holding his weight at all, and he was dragging it behind him, feeling pain racing up and down the injured limb. But he kept walking.

It was getting harder and harder to keep going, his pace slower than it ever had been before, and Daryl knew that he would be lucky if he managed to make it back to the farm without collapsing. But he had Sophia, he had the kid to worry about, and he'd sooner die than leave her unprotected in the forest again.

He just needed to get her back to Carol, just needed to know that she would be safe, and then he didn't even care was happened after that.

Daryl's breath was clear in the cold air as it came out in harsh pants, and he was pretty certain that the wet stickiness on his shirt was not sweat. Everything part of his body was pure agony, and it felt like Sophia was getting heavier by the second.

But he kept walking.

.

Rick walked back to the campfire, after speaking to Hershel.

No one even looked up at him, all too engrossed in the early stage of grieving that they had become accustomed to. He sighed, and went back to where he had been standing before, leaning against a thick tree, and just watching.

Hershel had approached him from the house, to tell him that they were all turning in for the night. "If he comes back," he had said, looking into Rick's eyes with sincerity, "I don't care what time it is, you come and you get me. No matter how late or early it is, you come and get me."

"I will." Rick had promised, a lump in his throat as he nodded, "I will."

The fields and woods were empty, as far as he could see, and Rick found himself thinking back to how Hershel had said _if_, and not _when_. The bark behind his back suddenly felt harder than ever, and the lack of movement at the edge of the woods seemed more painfully obvious

If he was being honest with himself, Rick realised that he wasn't really expecting Daryl to make it back either.

.

Daryl had been walking for hours.

He was barely breathing anymore, the harsh pants turned agonizing and too much of a drain on his energy. So now he was simply running on the bare fumes of his lack of food that day, and his pure determination and stubbornness.

He was going to get Sophia back to her mother.

Even if it killed him.

When he finally looked up, to see the edge of the forest, and the almost invisible tiny light of the campfire in the far distance, Daryl could have collapsed with relief. But instead, he continued to limp through the forest undergrowth, nudging Sophia slightly with his head.

"Hey, kid. We're nearly there." She woke up with a start, hands tightening their grip around his neck in fear, cutting off his air supply. Daryl resisted the urge to buck the kid off, instead waiting for her to calm down and release her grip by herself. She did eventually, and he took a deep breath, regardless of the agony that caused his vision to white out for a moment, "Yer okay, Sophia, I got ya… see tha' fire in th' distance? That's were yer mother is, an' th' rest 'a the group."

Sophia gasped weakly, and whispered into his ear, "We're nearly there."

"That we are, kid. Yer mother is gon' be so happy ta see ya, I know it. Jus' a few more minutes."

As he stumbled out of the woods, Daryl hoped that the rest of the group were still awake. He _needed_ someone to be there for Sophia, when he eventually collapsed.

.

He'd just turned around to the group, to say some words about Daryl and the…situation, when it happened.

"Listen, everyone… I know that this isn't easy for any of us, but—the thing about Daryl is that nothing could have stopped him. He set out this morning, with the sole intention of—of finding Sophia, and bringing her home. But—"

Just as he was about to say the dreaded words, Andrea leapt out of her chair, knocking her plate of food into the dirt, and threw out her hand, "Look! I see something! I think it's them—Carol!"

Before Rick could even turn around to see what she could see, Carol had emerged out of the RV, her face lit up in both happiness and fear as she saw Andrea's expression. She took a few slow steps towards the field where Andrea was pointing, and then slowly burst into a run.

Things seemed to move into fast forward then.

.

Sophia squealed when she saw the dark shapes moving towards them from the direction of the house, the ones that were yelling and carrying flashlights. But she kept her arms wrapped tightly around Daryl, and he just kept walking.

But then they were getting closer, and Daryl could hear Carol's sobs of joy, so he pushed his aching body into a run.

Then they collided, and Daryl let himself fall to the ground, as Carol grabbed Sophia, and sunk down into the long grass with her. He could hear their sobs and cries of gladness, and the rest of the group getting closer, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

Daryl just lay on his back, in the damp grass, and let himself _breathe_.

He let his eyes slip closed.

.

But then the rest of the group caught up to them, and Daryl's moment of peace was ruined by several people throwing themselves down beside him, and touching him. Someone peeled one of his eyelids open, and another one was tilting his head up, and then Daryl found the strength to move.

"Get off," He slurred, and raised a hand to cover his face, "Jus' leave me here… 'm fuckin' exhausted."

There were various sounds of relief from all around him, and he could still hear Carol crying, and then Rick's voice spoke up, "Sorry, Daryl, I'm afraid we can't do that. C'mon, let's get you to Hershel… Shane, can you give me a hand."

Daryl grunted in anger as he felt hands wrap around his biceps, and heave him to his feet. "No," He protested, but he wasn't sure that anyone could hear him. He could barely hear himself, his voice cracked and practically inaudible.

They were dragging him across the field then, and he opened his eyes to see Sophia safely in her mother's arms, and the rest of the group pressing around both of them, as they all made their way back to camp. Several unidentifiable people patted him on the back, and it seemed like everyone was trying to thank him at once, and all Daryl wanted to do was go back to his tent, and fall back asleep under all those blankets that he now had in there.

And that's what he was going to do.

He dug his heels into the ground when they reached the edge of the campsite, and shook his head, "I ain't goin' back in tha' house. Jus' let me go back ta m'tent." And then they were all protesting against him, and trying to keep walking, but Daryl scowled with the last of his energy, and nodded towards Sophia, "The kid's dehydrated, an' half starved. Let Hershel at her first, an' I'll be sleepin' in my tent. _Grimes_, I swear ta God I will fuckin'… I'll… Jus' let me go back ta 'tent already."

When neither of them moved, Daryl gathered up every last ounce of strength he had left, and pulled away from the two men. "Daryl…" He tried to give Rick the finger, but he had no strength left, and instead just limped over to his tent.

Daryl fell inside, landing on the mess of blankets and comfort, and warmth, and opened his eyes to see Glenn placing his crossbow inside the entrance, and Rick looking worriedly inside.

"If I don't wake up in this fuckin' tent tomorrow, 'm gon' stomp yer ass, Grimes. Now leave me be."

.

Rick stayed up all night.

He watched from a seat in the corner, as Hershel examined Sophia, checked her for injuries and bites. He watched as Hershel set up an IV for the child, and as Carol curled up beside a sleeping Sophia, and cried herself to sleep. He knew, that this time she was crying with happiness.

He went out to the rest of the group, who were waiting anxiously outside, and relayed the good news that Sophia was going to be fine, in a few days. He watched as they hugged, and cried, and expressed their gratitude to Daryl, who was asleep in his tent.

He then talked to Hershel, explained that Daryl had refused to go inside the house, and that he was in his tent, most likely sleeping. He bit his lip as he told Hershel that he wasn't sure of the extent of Daryl's injuries.

He watched as Hershel quietly examined Daryl, who was sleeping deeper than ever, and listened as Hershel told him that he thought Daryl just needed to rest. He watched the others as they drifted off to bed, hours later, smile at Daryl's tent, and say again how lucky they were to have him.

He felt a small hint of regret, when he realised that Daryl wasn't there or awake to hear the entire group praising him, but then knew that the appreciation for Daryl wouldn't be going away any time soon. He watched as his son cried, and hugged him, relieved beyond words that he wouldn't have to tell Carl that his friend was dead after all.

He ended up sitting by the smouldering fire the next morning, just feeling this huge sense of relief and thankfulness, while the rest of the group slept.

.

They all saw the following afternoon, when Daryl limped out of his tent for lunch.

Carol let out a cry of thankfulness, and ran over, Sophia behind her, and they all watched as the two engulfed Daryl Dixon in a huge hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you…" Carol was whispering over and over again, while her daughter hugged Daryl's legs.

They all saw how surprised he looked, and how he bent down to hug Sophia back. They all saw how she gripped him tightly, and whispered her own _thank you's_ in his ear, and how he gently pressed his lips to the top of her clean hair.

And they all had the same feeling of thankfulness, and gratitude, and relief.

_Things were going to be okay._

_._

_So, that's it for this story, guys._

_I'm sad to be ending it here, but I've really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you've all enjoyed reading it. I've adored reading all your comments and seeing all the people who've viewed this, put it on alerts or favourites, and read it. _

_I'd love to hear what you guys have to say about this last chapter, whether you've been reviewing every chapter, or none at all. Thank you all for clicking on this story, and helping me along through it as I write._

_Thank you so much for reading,_

_Amy xx _


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